


Fading

by Desade, Eviscera



Series: Ouchy-Verse [11]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: ALL THE FEELS OKAY, Anal Sex, Biting, Feels, Fingerfucking, Fluff and Angst, Jotun!Loki makes an appearance, M/M, Norse Bro Feels, Oral Sex, and then we have the usual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-27
Updated: 2014-01-27
Packaged: 2018-01-10 05:04:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1155429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Desade/pseuds/Desade, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eviscera/pseuds/Eviscera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Weeks have passed since Clint revealed his condition to Loki, and the god has been waiting for an answer to his offer.  Time is running out...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fading

It had been six weeks since Clint had revealed the truth of his condition to Loki.  Six weeks of the god’s nerves fraying as his archer remained tight-lipped, refusing to commit to the only cure Loki could provide.  True, Loki had promised not to force the issue; stating he would instead give Clint all the time he needed in order to make up his mind.   He just hadn’t anticipated that it would take nearly this long…or that Clint would grow more withdrawn and quiet with each passing day.

 

That did nothing but feed the god’s panic; strengthening that malevolent voice in his head that insisted Clint had no intention of accepting Loki’s offer of immortality.

 

But Loki reined in that anxiety, forcing himself to hold to his word and not push the archer to make a decision, knowing that if he exerted his influence, then Clint may someday come to resent him for it.  So he kept his placid mask firmly in place and upheld the illusion that all was well behind those poison green eyes.

 

He was now finding it difficult to maintain that level of calm, considering they had been roused from a sound sleep by the insistent chirping of Clint’s phone.  Once answered, the assassin had been assailed by the less than happy tones of Director Fury, demanding that he ‘ _haul his ass into the office, right goddamn now_ ’.

 

He’d then hung up before Clint had even had a chance to ask what was so important that he had to come in on a rare day off.

 

Growling to himself, Clint had thrown back the covers and dressed quickly before muttering to Loki, “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

 

And then he was gone.

 

That had been hours ago, and Loki’s panic was flaring brighter, rising into his throat to choke his very breath.  Something had happened; something had gone wrong.

 

And there was nothing he could do about it except wait for Clint’s return.

 

Even as fast as the Quinjet was, it still took an unreasonable amount of time for Clint to return from the Helicarrier.  Why Fury chose that floating boat as S.H.I.E.LD. headquarters, he would never understand.  It made things so much more inconvenient, especially when he was meant to be on leave and hadn’t even set his alarm to go off that morning.

 

No, this week was meant to belong to him and Loki alone, with no distractions, no interruptions, and hopefully no misunderstandings.  The time he’d already taken to consider Loki’s offer was much too long, and he could see the strain it was causing on their already-frayed bond.  Each time Clint looked into Loki’s eyes, he could see the slowly-dwindling hope that maybe this time he would have his answer.  Each time Clint failed to give him that answer, the hope dwindled just that little bit more.

 

He knew what Loki must be thinking, why it was taking him so long to decide.  He wanted to give him some kind of sign, some reassurance that Clint wasn’t rejecting him with his hesitation, but that would mean breaching the wall of silence, and Clint wasn’t sure he was ready for everything that might spill out.

 

Except now that privilege had been yanked out of his hands and very firmly shoved into Fury’s pocket.  Orders were orders, and he’d been told to “do whatever he had to do” to make sure he was still 100% functional.  Clint hadn’t told Fury everything about Loki’s offer, just that he could, in fact, save his eyesight.

 

That was all Fury seemed to care about, and Clint wasn’t about to tell him about the other side-effects.  There were too many people looking for what Loki was practically begging him to accept; he couldn’t let information like that slip, especially to Fury.

 

So now Clint was torn between his own personal misgivings and his want — _need_ — to stay at Loki’s side.  Throw Fury’s orders into the mix, and Clint was having some seriously conflicted emotions.  As if he wasn’t conflicted enough.

 

He knew what Loki wanted.

 

He knew what he himself wanted.

 

He knew what Fury wanted.

 

Taking all of that into account, it should have been the easiest decision of his life.

 

If he wasn’t still so god damned _terrified_ , that is.

 

Loki still didn’t understand why he was so hesitant to throw his mortality away and live for eternity at his side.  But Loki had also never had to live knowing he was going to die.  Clint didn’t _want_ to die.  He doubted many people did, but there was a difference between wanting something and accepting it as an inevitability.  To flip that switch, to turn off the countdown in his head that told him the years in front of him were getting fewer as he left more behind, that was the hard part.  That was the scary part.

 

That was why he took the long way home when he finally touched down on the mainland and got behind the wheel of his car.  Too much to think on.  Too many questions he still didn’t know how to ask.

And one very lonely Norse god missing him at home.

 

God damn it.

 

He really didn’t know if he was ready for this, but it couldn’t all be about him.  It wasn’t just his mortality being given up, it wasn’t just his life they were deciding on, it was Loki’s, too.  He deserved to at least know why Clint was keeping such a tight lid on his feelings, why he seemed so quiet and distant.  

 

It had nothing to do with Clint not wanting him and everything to do with Clint not wanting him to make the biggest mistake of both their lives.

 

And that included trying to take over two worlds and attempting to destroy another.

 

When Clint finally reached his front door, he wasn’t sure what he would be coming home to.  He’d left fairly abruptly that morning, and thinking back on it now, he wouldn’t blame Loki for sulking.  He hadn’t had the best handle on his temper the last few weeks, and Fury calling him and barking orders at him so early in the morning had severed the last of his frayed nerves.  He hadn’t even thought to spare the sharp edge of his temper from Loki, and he had a feeling he was going to be paying for that for some time to come.

 

Well, he probably deserved it.  And with that thought in mind, Clint opened the front door and stepped into whatever awaited him.

 

The sound of Clint’s key turning in the lock startled Loki out of his troubled reverie.  He’s been buried so deeply within his own thoughts that he’d failed to hear the archer’s approach.  Like a shot, the god was off the couch, crossing the room in three quick strides to meet his Hawk before he’d even fully opened the door.

 

One glance was all it took to see the troubled cast to Clint’s features, proving to Loki that something had gone wrong in his meeting with Fury.

 

"What has happened," he questioned, nervous hands reaching for the man before him, running down his arms and across his chest.  "You were gone for so very long that I began to worry…"

 

Loki’s words trailed away as Clint refused to meet his eyes.

 

The god drew back slightly, hands falling limply to his side as an awkward silence filled the room.  He stood frozen in place as Clint lay his keys on the table near the door and shrugged out of his jacket, tossing it toward the coat rack.  It missed, falling to the floor in a crumpled heap that Clint booted aside as he stalked past.

 

"Clint," Loki asked quietly; hesitantly.  "Are you…alright?"

 

"No," Clint answered in a weary tone as he sat down, dropping his face into his hands.  "No.  I’m not."

 

Damn it, this wasn’t how he wanted this to go.  He could feel Loki’s hesitation and confusion rolling off of him like heat.  The last few weeks, it had gotten steadily worse, until it seemed as though the god had no idea what he could safely say; what would trigger Clint to slam his walls shut once again.  It was almost like their early days, when Loki was so terrified of doing or saying something that would cause Clint’s hatred of him to spring back up to rip them apart.

 

This was so much worse, Clint thought.  He loved Loki, and was getting better at telling him that, with his words just as much as his actions.  To see him holding back, the doubt and uncertainty clouding his eyes, almost afraid to touch him, caused a physical ache in his chest.  It was a feeling he wasn’t used to having before Loki had come along.  It was quite familiar now.

 

When he failed to elaborate his answer any further, Loki seemed to be at a loss as to what to say or do, so he merely shifted his weight awkwardly from his place between the door and the couch.  Clint could tell he wanted to press him for more of an answer, but once again, that hesitation stilled his tongue.

 

Finally, Clint sighed and lifted his head, and looked over to see Loki standing there and making the barest attempt to hide his panic.  The ache in his chest rose into his throat, and he swallowed it down before it could show on his face.  Loki really had nothing to worry about, he was finally going to get his answer.

 

"C’mere, Princess," he said, beckoning Loki over with an outstretched hand.  "We need to talk."

 

Loki watched as Clint cradled his head in his hands.  The slump of his shoulders called to the god to soothe him; to assure his Hawk that all was well.  But his uncertainty kept him rooted in place.  A sharp spike of anger overwhelmed him then, brought on by this constant feeling of helplessness.

 

Since the night Clint’s condition had been revealed, Loki had been battling that sense of powerlessness.  He was a god; had held magic in his hands capable of decimating worlds.  He had fought, and bested, all those that had stood against him.

 

And yet in this?  His hands were tied and he was forced to stand idle while his world slowly crumbled to ruin around him.

 

"C’mere, Princess," Clint finally said, beckoning Loki.  "We need to talk."

 

Six small words, spoken in a quiet voice, were all it took to fan the flames of his panic into a roaring inferno.

 

Swallowing down that anxiety, Loki crossed to the couch, settling carefully at Clint’s side.  He folded his hands into his lap, gripping tightly to hide the tremors and steeled his spine against whatever the archer was about to say.

 

"What has happened," he repeated slowly, evenly.  "What did your director say to cause you to return to me in such a state?"

 

Clint shook his head and reached for Loki’s nearest hand, prying it away from the other to steady the tremors he could feel thrumming through his fingertips.

 

"It wasn’t anything he said," Clint assured him.  "Not really.  I’m just… well, I’m kind of a coward when it comes to things like this."

 

"Do not speak of yourself in such a way, Clint," Loki pleaded, his tone quiet and subdued.  "You are the farthest thing from a coward."

 

Clint’s eyes crinkled in the tiniest hint of a smile and he tightened his hold around Loki’s fingers for a brief moment.  “About this, I really am,” he argued.  “I know I told you I would think about what you said, and I would talk about it when I was ready, but if it was left up to me, we’d _never_ talk about it.  Fury just kind of… made it hard for me to keep being a coward.”

 

Loki’s eyes widened at Clint’s mention of his offer; it was the first time either of them had dared to bring it up since it was first made.  Clint kept his silence, and Loki had been too terrified of pushing him away should he ever press him about it.  They had been locked in a stalemate for weeks, with neither of them knowing what the other was thinking.  And of course, Loki being Loki had automatically assumed the worst.

 

Clint supposed he really should have been more forthcoming about his feelings on the matter.  It was true, he was terrified about what this might do to him, but Loki had made a very good point the last time they spoke on it; fear shared is fear halved.

 

Clint was so used to shouldering his burdens alone, he hadn’t even considered sharing this one.

"Are you… ready to speak of it now, then?" Loki asked, and there was little he could do to mask the guarded hope in his voice.

 

Clint huffed out an unamused breath and looked down at their clasped hands.  Loki’s long, pale fingers intertwined between his, gripping tightly as if afraid Clint would float away should he let go.

 

"Honestly?  No."  Clint voice was flat and heavy as a steel slab.  "Doesn’t mean I can keep being a coward about it, though.  It’s not just _me_ we’re talking about, you have just as much riding on this as I do.  Maybe more."

 

When Clint looked up, there was still the usual apprehension and doubt behind his eyes, but they were tempered by the steel cord of stubbornness that was always there to keep him centered.

 

"You’re gonna have to tell me what your plan is if you want me to agree to it, Princess."

 

Finally, after weeks of anxiety, they had come to this.

 

Loki had plotted and worried his way through every possible aspect of obtaining Idunn’s apples, on the slim hope that Clint would accept his offer.  Granted, he still hadn’t come right out and said yes, but if the archer wanted the logistics of his plan, then that must mean he was leaning more toward the affirmative.

 

The god nearly stammered in his eagerness to answer.

 

"At first, my plan was nothing more than to sneak into Idunn’s orchard and steal what we required.  But as the weeks went by, and I awaited your decision, it occurred to me that subterfuge may not be the _best_ course of action.”

 

"Ya think," Clint asked dryly.

 

"The last thing I wish for is to start a war," he replied quickly.  "But Idunn _does_ supply a measure of her apples to the royal family of Asgard.  And I think that if I enlisted the help of my brother, then he would happily assist us.”

 

Loki paused, searching Clint’s gaze before he continued.  “I only need your acceptance of my offer, and then I shall contact Thor.”

 

Clint blinked, thinking he must have misheard.

 

"You’re kidding, right?" he said when it was clear he’d heard correctly.

 

Then it was Loki’s turn to look confused.  “Certainly not,” he said.  “You find my plan lacking?”

 

Clint simply looked at him, frozen and momentarily speechless.  He looked away, his eyes trailing over the familiar sight of the living room as if looking for something to help him explain why Loki’s plan was lacking.

 

He wasn’t sure what Loki’s relationship with his brother entailed; he had never felt the need to intrude on their time together, and usually made it a point to be out of the apartment whenever Thor made his infrequent visits.  Call it instinct or intuition, but Clint had never felt entirely at ease in Thor’s presence, and he got the distinct impression that it was mutual.  His interactions with the Thunder god were short and usually tense.  Clint chose to chalk it up to an elder sibling thing; he was familiar with how protective older brothers could be, and while it stung that Thor felt Loki needed protecting from him, he could at least understand where that protectiveness spawned from.

 

To think that Thor would help them in this scheme was pushing it.

 

"What makes you think Thor would help you with this?" Clint asked.  "You made it pretty clear that it’s something we’re _not_ supposed to be doing.  Maybe there’s a reason.  You really think Thor is going to risk you getting in trouble over this?  Over _me_?”

 

Loki stared back at him with wide eyes, his fingers gripping his ever tighter with each word from his mouth.

 

"He would," he assured Clint, though his conviction fell a bit flat.  "He wishes for nothing more than my happiness.  And that is _you_ , Clint.  He would never begrudge me that, nor would he condemn either of us to an eternity of being parted.  If you would but give me your final answer…"

 

Clint sighed and rubbed the back of his neck wearily with his free hand.  It was hard to argue with Loki when he got like this; frantic and desperate.  He would make this plan a reality, even if he had to go back to his old, manipulative ways, if only to have his Hawk.

 

The problem with that, Clint knew, was that sooner or later, he was going to trip the alarms at S.H.I.E.L.D.  That would only end badly.  He couldn’t risk Loki like that, even if it meant this plan of his fell through.  Even if it meant Clint wasted away over the years, or got himself stupidly killed in the field.

 

His silence caused Loki to withdraw once more, and Clint kicked himself when he felt him pull away.

 

"I know you…worry about where this plan of action will lead us," Loki stated quietly, barely able to maintain the fraying edges of his anxiety.  "Forgive me if that still seems alien, as there are few that have ever cared enough to gift me with their concern.  And while Thor may be a man of few words, I can assure you that he sees the change in me, and attributes that to you.  And he is grateful.”

 

Clint huffed softly, at a loss for words.  Not that it mattered, because  Loki was not about to let him get a word in edgewise.  Clint had given life to the slowly dying spark of hope in the god’s heart, and he would be heard on the matter.

 

"True, this may not be something that is…sanctioned," Loki continued hurriedly.  "But it is not _entirely_ unheard of, either.  The only way that I would find trouble in this is if I insisted on stealing the apples.  And I promise you that that will be a last resort."

 

The god’s words trailed away, and he turned a pleading gaze to the archer at his side.

 

"Please, my Hawk," he whispered, fingertips stroking over the back of Clint’s hand.  "At least allow me to ask Thor before you call his willingness to help into question.  Will you give me that much?”

 

Damn it, he was doing that thing with his fingers again.  Clint had a soft spot for those fingers.  

 

Combined with the whispered plea and those begging, puppy-dog eyes, Clint felt his resolve crumbling beneath the onslaught.  He wondered when he’d become so whipped.

 

But still, there was that part of him that was unwilling to risk Loki for anything.

 

"And if he doesn’t help?  What then?" Clint asked.  "You said stealing would be a last resort, but you would still do it.  You might be willing to risk it, but I’m not.”  Reaching over, Clint gripped the back of Loki’s neck and squeezed possessively.  “Do you know why I want you to stay away from S.H.I.E.L.D.?  Away from Fury and Tasha and just about every god damn body else?”

 

"You… have not told me _exactly_ why," Loki allowed.

 

Clint held his gaze steadily as he told him.

 

"If you step one toe over the line, they’ll send you back," he said, his voice low and dangerous.  At Loki’s wide-eyed stare, Clint tightened his fingers around the nape of his neck.  When he spoke next, his words were choked out of a throat suddenly too tight, and he fought the stinging behind his eyes.  "Do you understand, Loki?  They won’t just throw you in a cell to think about what you’ve done.  They won’t send you home to Asgard.  They’ll send you back to where you came from, and I don’t think they’d have enough mercy to ever let you come back."

 

At Loki’s stricken silence, he relaxed the death-grip he had on his nape, though he didn’t let go.

 

"So, if you think Thor will help you, you can ask him.  But that’s as far as it goes, Loki.  I won’t risk you, not for all the time in the god damn world."

 

"And this is what your agency has threatened," Loki asked in an incredulous tone.  "That if we misbehaved, they would return me to…Hel?"

 

Clint nodded, steel blue eyes locked with poison green.  “That’s why I’ve done my best to keep you off S.H.I.E.L.D.’s radar.  I could never forgive myself if you ended up back there.”

 

"How _dare_ they,” Loki muttered vehemently.  “The gall of your director is absolutely unmatched…”

 

Clint’s brow furrowed and he cocked his head slightly to one side.  “You know how Fury operates.  No threat is too low for him to employ.”

 

Loki waved one hand in an attitude of dismissal.  “The depths to which that man will stoop is not what is in question here, my Hawk.  What I would like to know is what makes Director Fury think he has the authority to sentence me to a realm he cannot even _access_?  Only the All Father has that right!”

 

Clint sat in silence as Loki’s words washed over him.  He felt the first flush of anger flare in his chest, and the longer his silence drew out, the stronger that anger became.

 

There was no point in asking Loki if his words were true; it was clear enough—to him, at least—that they were.  There was no feigning that level of indignation, not even for the God of Lies.

 

Which could only mean that Clint was being lied to.  Again.  Rather, from the very beginning.  The moment Fury had confirmation that Clint and Loki were more than just acquainted, he’d had this plan in place to keep them both out of trouble.  What better way to guard a dangerous prisoner?  Make the guard themselves terrified to let that same prisoner cause any sort of trouble.  Knowing just how attached Clint had become to their most dangerous prisoner,  it only made sense to put the fear of being separated into him.

 

He didn’t realize it, but his anger was beginning to show on his face, and Loki had gone completely still, watching him carefully.  Almost fearfully.

 

Clint wasn’t altogether sure that fear was unwarranted.  The anger he could feel building within was so like the anger he’d felt all those months ago, fresh from the thrall.  When he’d still hated Loki, or told himself he did.  When all he could feel was anger and betrayal and hurt all balled up and knotted inside him.

 

They lied to him, were _still_ lying to him.  If he thought he’d been cut out of the loop before…

 

"Clint?" Loki asked, hesitant, wary.

 

Clint blinked back to himself and took in the barely-concealed worry on Loki’s face, and that just made him angrier.  With a snarl twisting his lip, Clint shoved himself from the couch, no longer able to sit still with the anger thrumming through him.

 

"Fucking _lying_ to me," he muttered, almost to himself.  " _Still_ fucking lying to me.  God damn guard dog is all I am anymore, he pretty much rubbed my nose in it, one-eyed bastard…  Sat right there and lied to my fucking face.”

 

The meeting in Fury’s office months ago played back in Clint’s head, and the anger flared bright and hot.

 

"Tasha just fucking sat there and didn’t say a god damn word, knew he was lying and didn’t tell me…"

 

The sick knot of betrayal tightened in Clint’s throat as he thought back to all the two of them had been to each other.  In the next moment, his hand shot out to the closest thing within reach, and then the table lamp was flying through the air to smash against the wall, raining shards of plaster and glass to the carpet.

 

It was just one tiny sound, one sharp little intake of a startled breath, but it was enough to snap Clint out of his rage to lock eyes with Loki.

 

He had seen Clint’s propensity for anger before; seen his eyes darken and the muscles in his jaw clench rhythmically as he fought to hold back the tide of rage.  He’d borne witness to the archer’s sharp tongue the night he had revealed his condition.  And while he’d seen his Hawk’s body tense, and fists ball, he had yet to see that anger fully explode into action.

 

Until now.

 

The way Clint batted the lamp from its place in a quick, concise motion shocked Loki and he bit back a gasp, recoiling slightly.  The god’s wide-eyed stare noted the way the glass dust swirled and danced in the disturbed eddies of air; almost pretty in the diffused shaft of sunlight streaming in the windows.

 

Slowly, Loki turned his head and found Clint staring at him.  Steel blue eyes draining of rage to be replaced by something darker; more painful.  The archer’s shoulders slumped, and he suddenly looked very small and lost.

 

Loki’s brow knitted and he leaned forward, extending his hand slowly.  “Clint,” he murmured.  “Come to me.  Please.  You needn’t shoulder this alone.”

 

Clint heard, but the words were lost on him.  The anger popped out of existence, to be replaced by a bemused sort of numbness.  He could feel himself shaking with the remnants of his anger, the pressure inside his head that felt as if it was about to pop.

 

It wasn’t Loki he’d seen looking back at him with startled eyes, but his mother.  That hands that even now were balling into fists to still the tremors were not his, and they’d had long practice in taking anger and frustration out on the closest thing they could close around.

 

With a hissing growl, Clint twisted away, his fingers digging through his hair until his scalp stung, and still, he couldn’t get the image of his mother’s face superimposed over Loki’s out of his mind.  It was just a moment, a split second of weakness that had allowed the anger to burst through, but it was more than enough to scare the shit out of them both.

 

He never wanted Loki to see him like that.  He didn’t want the god to know that his beloved mortal was much more damaged than he let on.  Most days, it was easy to forget the lies and pain, the betrayal on top of betrayal, and if he was lucky, he wouldn’t have occasion to remember it at all.  Other days, his easy smiles became a little more difficult, his sarcastic wit just a little slower.

 

This, though… This was everything he never wanted Loki to know was hidden within him.

 

There was the sound of footsteps approaching from behind; even barefoot on carpet, there was no way Clint could miss the sound of Loki drawing closer.

 

" _Don’t_ ," he said from between clenched teeth.

 

The footsteps faltered, but did not halt, and soon enough, Clint could feel Loki right behind him.  He expected the god’s touch at any moment, and was terrified of what he might do when those hands came to rest on him.

 

He could feel the distress coming off of Clint in waves.  Something had rattled his Hawk; something far more troublesome than Fury and his lies, and that familiar feeling of helplessness swelled in Loki’s chest.  He raised one hand, but stopped short of the archer’s shoulder, frozen in uncertainty.

 

"Don’t," he echoed softly, mournfully.  "Don’t what?  Show you that I am here, at your side, and ready to face whatever comes?  Don’t allow you to share your burden with me?  I know you have stood alone, Clint.  Through hardship and heartbreak, those that should have supported you instead left you at the mercy of life.”

 

The god paused then, wanting nothing more than to wrap his Hawk in his arms and soothe the smaller man’s hurt, but knowing that he must first break through the shell surrounding him.

 

" _Please_ , Clint," Loki whispered.  "There are so very many requests you could make of me, and I would immediately comply.  But do not ask this of me.  Do not ask me to leave you to face this pain alone.  I _cannot_.  I _will_ not.”

 

Clint shook his head, muttering, “You don’t know what’s inside me, Loki.  And you shouldn’t make promises about things you don’t understand.”

 

"How dare you presume to tell me that I fail to understand anything about you,” Loki replied in a flat tone.  “I know your _true_ heart, Clint Barton.  I know of your childhood and the things you suffered at the hands of those that were to be your protectors.  And I know of your fear of growing to reflect their monstrous images.  I know _you_ , and in knowing you I can safely say that that will not come to pass.”

 

Clint could feel his fingernails biting into his palms; half-moons of pain reminding him of his tenuous hold on his rage.  He held his silence, unsure of how to respond to the god at his back.

 

"You may fear what you have hidden away, deep in your core," Loki said softly.  "But I do not.  I simply fear _for_ you.”

 

Holding his breath, Loki carefully lay his hand on Clint’s nape, fingertips gently stroking the hollow beneath the archer’s right ear as he waited for a response.

 

It was a strange feeling, as Clint’s body ceased its trembling, the tense line of his back and shoulders relaxing beneath such a simple touch.  Loki’s hand was warm against the back of his neck, the light pressure of his fingertips soothing against the rushing pulse just beneath the skin.  In that tiny instant, Clint wanted to turn and bury his face into the god’s chest and block out everything but the feel and scent of him, the sound of his breathing and the thumping cadence of his heartbeat.

 

But even as he thought that, wanted that so badly, it wasn’t what needed to be done.  Hiding never solved anything, even if it was his first instinct.  Loki would never object; he’d practically begged him for such on several occasions, and it was getting harder for Clint to deny him each time.

 

His urge to do so now was nearly a physical ache.

 

But no, he couldn’t allow himself to get distracted from the issue at hand.  They needed to solve this.  They needed to talk, and Clint falling apart in Loki’s arms wasn’t going to solve a god damn thing.

 

There would be time for that later, after the huge, life-altering decisions were dealt with.

 

"You’re almost as stubborn as I am," Clint muttered.

 

"I shall endeavor to take that as a compliment," was Loki’s dry reply, though the languid stroking of his fingers never ceased.  Clint felt him step closer, just before his other arm slid around his waist to pull him against his chest.  He hooked his chin over Clint’s shoulder and pressed his lips to the side of his neck.  "I find myself exercising the limits of my patience more often than I am used to."

 

"I guess you’re blaming me for that," Clint said, turning his head just the slightest bit to catch Loki’s profile from the corner of his eye.

 

Loki simply hummed in agreement and held Clint tighter to his chest.  The archer dropped his hands from their nest in his hair and leaned back against him, staring out into the darkening sky through the window.  He heaved a sigh heavy with resignation.

 

"You really are all I have now," he said, his eyes locked with those of Loki’s reflection in the glass.  "If I do this, Loki… you can’t… you don’t get to throw me away.  You’re the only one who thinks I’m worth a damn."

 

Loki shook his head and tightened his hold on his archer even as he returned the steady stare reflected in the glass.

 

"You still doubt my commitment to you?  To us?  Clint, I have never wanted anything more than have you… _forever_.  What I feel for you is like nothing I have ever experienced.  It is a visceral need.  I ache when we are parted; even if it is just for a few short days.  I cannot imagine ever wanting to be shed of you.”

 

"You say that now," Clint muttered.

 

"And I will say that forever," Loki cut in, his voice firm.  "I am yours, as you are mine.  You accept me as no other ever has, and I proudly wear your claim.  Throw you away?  No.  The only way our connection will ever be severed is if it is your wish to do so.”

 

Silence reigned for several long moments as Clint digested Loki’s words.

 

The god was content to simply hold his Hawk, nuzzling against the side of his throat and breathing deeply of his scent.  The simple act laying the last of his anxiety to rest even as his mind raced, planning exactly what he would say to Thor now that he was almost certain of Clint’s answer.

 

"I know trust comes hard to you, my Hawk," Loki murmured.  "And I know there is little I can do to convince you of my sincerity.  So I will simply continue to be here; to love you; and to offer you my support no matter what your decision may be."

 

Even as he said that, Clint knew there was a hidden meaning behind those words.  Loki might think he’d forgotten, but Clint remembered everything that was said the last time they’d spoken of this.  It had struck a note of fear through him then just as it did now.

 

" _I will never choose a path you cannot walk_ ," he’d said.

 

Clint wasn’t stupid.  He knew what that meant.  If there was a way to make him immortal, then the opposite must also be true.  Loki giving up his life to stay with Clint was a sickening thought for the archer.  It was the exact opposite of what he wanted.

 

The hard truth, however, was that it would be Loki’s own decision, and there wasn’t much Clint could do about that.  If the god chose to follow him into death, well, that was his choice alone, just as it would be Clint’s choice to join him through eternity.

 

"It’s not that I don’t _trust_ you," he said finally.  "I know you mean it when you say you love me.  I know you want to stay with me.  I want to stay with you, too.  Really, I do.  I’m still terrified of living forever, but…"  He trailed off, breaking the eye contact of Loki’s reflection in the mirror to turn in his arms.  When he looked back into those bright green eyes, Loki’s breath halted as he waited for whatever Clint would say next.

 

"Being without you terrifies me more."

 

"Then you understand the fear I have felt all along," Loki stated quietly.  "The thought of losing you?  Of spending eternity without you?  I have never dreaded _anything_ as I have that.”

 

"I know," Clint answered, holding Loki’s gaze.  "I’ve been thinking about all this for weeks now, and I just…I can’t lose you."

 

"You will not lose me," Loki soothed, resting his forehead against Clint’s.  "Even if you choose to refuse my offer, I will still remain at your side.  Until your last very last breath, I will be with you."

 

"I don’t want to do that to you, though," Clint murmured.  "Don’t wanna make you watch me…die."

 

"And given the choice, I would not bear witness to such a thing," Loki said.  "But if that is the decision you make, then that is the path we will tread.  Together."

 

Loki searched Clint’s eyes, taking in the full measure of want reflected back at him.  The god smiled gently and pressed a small kiss to the archer’s mouth.  “As I said,” he whispered against soft lips, “Whatever you choose, I shall support you.”

 

Clint could feel the pressure building up behind his eyes; the next time he opened his mouth to say something, his life was going to change, no matter what he said.  He didn’t think he’d ever been more terrified in his life.

 

He thought back to everything that had brought them to this moment, and he realized it was really only ever going to end like this.  It was inevitable, really.  The fighting, the screaming, the tears; it was all just a prelude to the final act.  Clint couldn’t see any other way this could play out.

 

Loki was trembling, just a bit, barely enough to notice, but Clint could feel the tiny tremors of Loki’s arms around him, in the fingers that were nearly clutching him.  Clint could hear his heartbeat in his breath, nearly see it in his eyes as they gazed down at him, waiting for his answer.

 

"You know me better than anyone else ever has," he said.  "Been inside my head.  You know what I’ve done, what I’ve had to do.  You know I’m gonna end up hurting you.  I’ve made so _many_ mistakes, Loki.  Too many."

 

"No, Clint," Loki murmured.  "Whatever mistakes you’ve made, you’ve more than made up for them."

 

Clint gave him a tiny, sad smile.  “No one else has ever told me that.”

 

Loki’s brows drew together, his mouth a hard line as his hands carded through Clint’s hair.  “No one else has ever been worthy of your love,” he said.  “If they failed to see past your flaws to your true core, then that is their loss and my gain.”

 

Clint let those long fingers against his scalp distract him for a moment, his eyes falling shut for a few breaths before he opened them again.  The pressure that had been building within him was finally gone.

"Then, if that’s what you want…  I choose you, Loki."

 

Loki’s slender fingers slid to a stop, and the god’s breath caught in his throat even as his heart stuttered in his chest.  He brought his hands around to cup Clint’s face, peering deep into the archer’s eyes for a long moment.

 

"Truly," he asked in a hoarse voice.  "This is your answer?  You will…stay?"

 

Clint gave a slight nod, swallowing hard against the ache in his throat before he trusted himself to speak.  

"Can’t think of anywhere I’d rather be," he murmured.

 

Loki’s vision wavered as his eyes filled with tears.  He blinked them back, determined not to allow his emotions to spiral out of control.  But he’d waited so very long…and he’d been terrified that Clint would refuse him; that he would choose his mortality, and condemn the god to an empty, loveless eternity.  A small sob escaped him as he drew Clint to his chest, winding his arms around the archer’s solid frame.

 

"Thank you," he whispered.  "I cannot begin to…what you have just given me is…just…thank you."

 

Clint pressed his forehead to the god’s shoulder and stroked his hands down Loki’s back, hoping to soothe the tremors that still ran through him.

 

"S’ok," he murmured in return.  "It’s all gonna be okay now."

 

He wasn’t sure who he was trying to comfort with those words; himself, or Loki.  With his acceptance of Loki’s offer, there came a sudden feeling of weightlessness, as if he was in danger of floating away now that his tether to his old life had been cut.  It was as though he’d just stepped over a threshold into a place where gravity ceased to apply.

 

Only the arms wrapped around him kept him grounded in the moment when everything else felt tenuous and surreal.  The same thought looped through his head over and over, cycling until it could finally catch so he could accept it once and for all.

 

_He really wants me.  He really loves me._

 

Of course, Clint had known it.  Loki wasn’t nearly as stingy with his words as he himself was, and he wasn’t in the least shy about telling Clint exactly how he felt at any given time.  He heard it every day, could see it in his eyes even when he didn’t voice it aloud.  Even in the past weeks, when they had been strained and silent, circling each other like two wary strays, he’d known Loki loved him just as fiercely as he always had.

 

The way Loki was clinging to him now spoke less of his usual desperation and more of the relief of finally having Clint’s answer at last.  And Clint didn’t care what Loki said, nothing would ever convince him that Loki would have accepted any other answer as gracefully as he claimed he would.  There would always be that shard of pain reflected in his eyes, no matter how hard he tried to hide it or how much he claimed that it wasn’t there.

 

But none of that mattered now.  Loki had his answer, the only answer Clint could give, really.

 

"I told you before," he said against the base of Loki’s throat.  "We’re pretty much stuck with each other.  You didn’t think you’d get rid of me that easy, did you?"

 

"I have _never_ wished to be rid of you,” Loki murmured, pressing a quick kiss to the archer’s crown.  “Quite the opposite, in fact.”

 

"Yeah, yeah.  I know," Clint replied hoarsely.  " _Forever_.”

 

"And does that still trouble you," Loki asked softly.  "The idea of eternity?  Even at my side?"

 

Clint was silent for a long moment, weighing his words before speaking.  “Yes and no,” he finally said, his tone hesitant.  “Still can’t quite wrap my head around the forever part.  But being with you?  That makes it a little less terrifying.”

 

Loki sighed, resting his cheek against the side of Clint’s head.  “I understand your reticence.  Truly, I do.  I can only hope that you eventually come to terms with the years that lay before us.”

 

Clint held his tongue, wrapped tightly in Loki’s arms, surrounded by his warmth and unique scent.  All of these things worked to soothe the remains of his panic, and yet he still felt the barest prickle of anxiety in the pit of his stomach.

 

Even though he’d given his answer; made his decision…they still had to convince Thor to help them.  And no matter how certain Loki was of enlisting his brother’s aid, Clint was slightly less sure how well that conversation would play out.

 

"I cannot promise you that immortality will ease the problems which seem to plague us," Loki stated slowly.  "But I can ensure you that we will face whatever come together."

 

Clint didn’t see how immortality would ease anyone’s problems, let alone the ones they seemed to encounter.  It certainly hadn’t helped Loki any.  But as he said, they were in this together now, and they would deal with whatever came their way, just as they’d always done.

 

He didn’t want to think about that, though.  It was no use dwelling on things that hadn’t even happened yet.  They had enough to deal with in the here-and-now, not the least of which was seeing to it that Clint became immortal in the first place.

 

He had so many questions, he didn’t know where to begin.  How did one go about becoming immortal?  Was it even possible for someone like him?  What would it do to him in the process?

 

Loki could feel him growing tense beneath his touch and held him tighter, and Clint let out a shuddering breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding.

 

"Sorry," he said, grinding his forehead against Loki’s shoulder.

 

"Do not apologize," Loki murmured into his hair.  "I know it will take time for you to fully accept the consequences of your decision.  If I have learned anything during the long years of my punishment, it is that."

 

Clint’s arms would around Loki’s middle, squeezing tightly.  “Don’t,” he said, his voice strained.  “Don’t like thinking of you in that place.”

 

Loki sighed, closing his eyes briefly against the pain he could hear in Clint’s voice.  “One day, you must also accept the truth of my imprisonment.  It cannot be erased, nor can it be forgotten.  It served its purpose, my Hawk, and brought me to you.”

 

"Shut up," came Clint’s muffled plea.  He could feel his warring emotions start up the familiar battle that raged every time Loki mentioned his torture.  Guilt, anger, hurt, and a soul-wrenching sadness all fighting to the forefront of his thoughts.

 

They’d never spoken at length about Loki’s punishment.  Any time it had come up, Clint steered the conversation very firmly in a different direction.  Part of him did it to spare Loki the burden of re-living what had been done to him, but another, more selfish part did it to spare himself the thought of Loki suffering in any way because of him.

 

"So rude you are," Loki muttered affectionately into Clint’s ear, and apparently decided to let the matter drop, as he always did.

 

Clint knew they would have to speak of it some day.  As long as that day was a long, long way off.

Loki smoothed Clint’s hair back, peppering his forehead with kisses in a vain attempt to chase the veil of sadness from his archer’s eyes.  He cursed himself internally for mentioning his time in Hel, as nothing seemed to bring Clint low faster than being reminded of what the god had endured.

 

In the beginning, Clint had demanded to know what his punishment had entailed.  Stating it was part and parcel in leading the agent to trust him, and so Loki had grudgingly complied.  So he had swallowed down the panic that filled him when he even so much as thought of what had transpired, and told the mortal what he wished to know.

 

Even then it had been but the bare bones; Loki’s tongue struggling to put into words the terrors that had been visited upon him in the name of justice.

 

And Clint’s reaction?

 

Anger.  Sheer, undiluted rage followed quickly by a sick horror that Loki could easily read on his face.

Both emotions confused the god; left him wondering what his fate may have been had he been left in the hands of the mortals.

 

And since that time, Clint had refused to hear another word on the matter.  They could discuss anything and everything else; but never that.

 

Truth be told; it worried Loki.  He knew that someday Clint would be faced with the entirety of what had occurred in Hel, not just the watered down version that Loki himself had offered, and the god dreaded what was to follow.

 

But for now?  That fear was very low on his list of concerns, and so Loki pushed it away, instead turning his thoughts to the coming conversation with Thor.

 

"Have you questions, my Hawk," he asked softly.  "Do you need to know more before I contact my brother?"

 

Clint took a deep breath and let his mind settle, stepping back from the precipice of the dark abyss his thoughts opened up when faced with the idea of Loki’s punishment.  It was a hard-fought battle, and most times, his thoughts still lingered with a trace of melancholy, laced with a sharp edge of guilt.  This time, though, he needed to keep a brave front, at least until he’d reassured Loki.

 

"So many questions," he said, and he reluctantly pulled away from Loki’s comforting scent to look into his face.

 

It was the change in his eyes that gave Clint pause; they were no longer creased in worry, or followed his every move as if terrified that he would disappear if he looked away for even a moment.  For the first time in a long time, he looked happy.

 

All of a sudden, Clint’s questions didn’t seem quite so pressing.

 

"I guess nothing really important," he said after a moment.  "Just… you’re _sure_ it will work?  I mean, has this ever been done before?"

 

A small, fond smile crossed Loki’s face and he lowered his forehead to Clint’s.

 

"I have no reason to think it will not," he said.  "It is not exactly common, but there have been others like us.  We will hardly set a precedent."

 

Clint made a small sound of acknowledgment, though the crease of worry refused to leave his brow.  His hands gripped Loki’s shirt to anchor himself, his mind a racing flipbook of what-ifs.  So many ways this could go so very wrong, but it was what Loki wanted.  It was what he wanted.  Even if Loki did end up regretting it somewhere down the road, it was what they wanted now, and there was no point in wasting time speculating on what might happen.

 

It didn’t take him long to reach the only real conclusion.

 

"I trust you, Loki."

 

Loki fairly purred in contentment.  Finally all his doubts had been laid to rest; finally his Hawk had spoken the words he so needed to hear.

 

_'I will stay.'_

 

_'I trust you.'_

 

Not since Clint had professed his love had Loki felt such a deep sense of happiness.  True, there was much the archer did that brought such a heavy swell of emotion surging in his breast that it nearly choked him.  But _this_?  It was far and beyond any intimate moment they had shared.

 

This was forever.  This was the culmination of all that the god had ever wanted; ever dared to dream of having.

 

"Thank you," he breathed as he held the sniper’s gaze.  "Never have I been given such a precious gift.  I had hoped that this would be your answer.  I waited and wondered, trying to banish the anxiety from my mind; attempting to give you the time you needed."

 

"I know," Clint answered softly.  "For as much as you tried to hide it, I could read it in your eyes."

 

"Was I that transparent," Loki asked.

 

"Not much you can hide from me, Princess," Clint chuckled lightly.  "I know you too well."

 

Loki gave a rueful grin, ducking his head to nuzzle against the archer’s throat.  “I did try, though.”

 

"Yeah, you did.  Thanks for not pushing the issue."

 

"I swore I wouldn’t," Loki whispered.  "This had to be your decision, my Hawk.  For you to simply comply in order to please me would have spelled disaster."

 

Clint nodded, holding his silence even as he held his god.  He was still vaguely worried; wondering if Thor would be as quick to assist them as Loki assumed.  He could only hope he would, and that the request wouldn’t drive a wedge even deeper between the brothers.

 

"So…what now," he asked.

 

"Now I contact Thor," Loki answered simply.   

 

Clint felt a twinge of nervousness he could never quite help at the mention of Loki’s brother.  Though he tried to keep it from showing on his face, there was no hiding the slight flinch or the fleeting crinkle of his forehead.  Loki sighed and let his hands stroke down Clint’s arms, a gesture meant to both soothe and ground him at the same time.

 

"I had not thought you one to fear the likes of my brother, yet you flinch at the mere sound of his name," he said in a tone meant to be teasing.

 

"I’m not _scared_ of Thor,” Clint was quick to growl.  At Loki’s raised eyebrow, he hastened to add, “I’m just not comfortable around him.  He’s god damn huge and loud and I’m kind of not that big and I think sometimes he wants to crush my skull because he knows I’m fucking his baby brother.”

 

Loki’s mouth drew into a flat line as he pondered whether to be irritated or amused.  Even his irritation was tempered with the soft edge of fondness he’d become accustomed to with Clint.

 

"I’m not sure I like the way you choose to phrase our relationship, my Hawk," he said disdainfully.

 

"You know what I _mean_ ,” Clint huffed, and his voice took on a tight, gravelly quality that Loki tried not to become too distracted by.

 

"Indeed," Loki said, hooking his fingers around Clint’s nape and squeezing. "Will my assurance that nothing of the sort will happen bring you no peace?  For if not, I shall stop repeating myself and simply let your imagination conjure whatever gruesome fate awaits you at the hands of my oaf of a brother."

 

Clint blinked up at him, opened his mouth to give a scathing retort of his own, then stopped and simply smiled.  When Loki gazed down at him expectantly, all he could say was, “God, I _missed_ you.”

 

"And I, you," Loki smiled.  "Even the few short hours you were gone from my side were far beyond my liking."  The god stroked long fingers through the tousled mess of the archer’s hair before continuing in a stern tone.  "But you must set aside your apprehensions about my brother.  Thor may yet be protective of me, but he also recognizes the joy you bring, and I assure you that he means you no harm."

 

"If you say so," Clint replied gruffly.  "You know him way better than I do."

 

"Indeed," Loki said.  "He may seem aloof; perhaps even combative.  But that is simply because I have never had a companion such as you, and he is unsure how to react."

 

" _Such as me_ ," Clint echoed curiously.  "What d’ya mean by that?"

 

Loki sighed, pulling Clint over to the couch to settle next to him.  He turned toward the smaller man, catching and holding his gaze before he began to speak.

 

"I have spent most of my life as a solitary creature," Loki explained.  "There have been dalliances, yes, and even some long term…arrangements.  But never have I cleaved myself to anyone.”  He paused there, studying Clint’s expression.  “There has _never_ been one that I wished to spend my life with, my Hawk.  As such, you are an altogether new experience for my brother, and he is somewhat at a loss.”

 

Clint felt a twinge of pride at Loki’s admission.  Yet it was tempered by the ever present sadness that came when he allowed himself to dwell on the god’s history.  He’d built such walls around himself; been alone for so very long before they’d been thrown together.  The archer still wasn’t quite sure what he’d done to capture Loki’s interest, but he’d learned to stop questioning and just accept it.

 

Reaching out, Clint folded Loki’s hands into his own and nodded.  “That makes sense,” he murmured.  “I guess I haven’t really tried to make friends with the big guy, either.  This whole thing is sorta new for me, too.”

 

"In time," Loki soothed.  "All that will come with time.  You need not worry that things will remain strained between you two.  As I said, Thor wishes for nothing beyond my happiness…and you are at the root of that."

 

Clint turned a lopsided grin Loki’s way, asking, “Okay then.  So when do we start this thing?”

 

The god closed his eyes for a long moment, his brow knitting in concentration.  When that poison green gaze cracked open, there was a glint of triumph in his eyes.

 

"It has already begun," Loki murmured.  "I have reached out to Heimdall and asked that he carry a message to Thor, to let him know he is needed.  All that is left to do is await his arrival."

 

Clint swallowed thickly and replied, “Good thing I’m patient.”

 

"Yes," Loki replied.  "But I have a sense that Thor will not leave us waiting for very long."

 

Clint looked out the window nervously, but it was too dark to see if there were any storm clouds rolling in.  He had to admit, he was a little impressed that Thor could announce his arrival with a change in the goddamn weather.  At least he gave some warning; unlike Loki, with his penchant for popping into existence in the blink of an eye.

 

Loki noticed his nervousness.  It was clear that his Hawk was attempting to take everything in stride, but it must be so difficult to remain stoic in the face of such a thing.  If Clint hadn’t already been so jaded, they would probably not have made it this far.

 

In his line of work, Clint had seen more than enough inexplicable things that would have sent most people off the deep end.  It was his natural adaptability that had kept him sane; his inherent nature to accept things that couldn’t always be explained and simply add them to his world-view.

 

Although, it was even odds that he actually was still sane.  He hadn’t been allowed to see the results of his latest psyche evaluation, but he was still a S.H.I.EL.D. agent, so it must not have triggered any red flags.

 

"You still seem troubled," Loki said quietly, noting the way Clint’s forearms knotted and his jaw clenched.

 

Clint looked away from the window to see Loki watching him carefully, and swallowed the nervous lump in his throat.  He nodded, feeling no need to dispute that fact.

 

The weight was beginning to settle over him once again.  There was still every possibility that Thor wouldn’t help them.  Or that S.H.I.E.L.D. would somehow catch wind of their plans before Clint was ready to tell them.  Or that something would go horribly wrong and he would end up being turned inside out by some ridiculous trans-dimensional food allergy.

 

"I’ll be alright once I know for sure how things turn out," he said, just before the first rumble of thunder sounded above them.

 

They both turned to the window, then, and saw the first spattering of rain against the glass.

 

There was a flash of lightning outside, followed immediately by a clap of thunder that rattled the windowpane angrily against the frame.  Clint held on to his fraying nerves by the barest margin, willing his heart to slow; his breath to steady.

 

This was the moment he was both dreading and anticipating.

 

This was the moment that would change their lives.

 

The skies opened up, wind whipping the rain sideways across the glass and obscuring the outside view completely.  Loki pushed to his feet nonetheless, crossing to the window and peering through the curtain of water, searching in vain for a glimpse of the Thunder God.

 

They stayed frozen in position as the minutes ticked past, and then came the anticlimactic sound of a heavy knock.

 

Clint fought back the urge to dissolve into nervous laughter.  An ancient deity had just crossed realms, announced his presence by throwing the weather into a frenzy, and now he was standing patiently in their hallway?

 

This day couldn’t _possibly_ get any weirder.

 

Loki hurried across the room and threw wide the door to reveal Thor effectively filling the opening.

"Brother," he breathed.  "Thank you for answering my summons, but I did not expect you to arrive quite so soon.  Please.  Come in."

 

Thor stepped through the doorway, his eyes darted to Clint before he turned his gaze back to Loki.  “Heimdall said you were in need of my assistance, but would not tell me why.  I chose not to dally, especially considering that such a request from you is a rare occurrence.”

 

"Yes, well…I am not accustomed to asking for help," Loki murmured as he closed the door.

 

"Indeed," Thor agreed, moving deeper into the living room.  "Nor are you one to call me here for a simple visit.  It has been quite some time since we last met."  He paused for a moment before turning once more to Clint.  "Greetings to you, Hawk.  I trust you are well?"

 

"Uh, actually?  I’m not," Clint stammered.

 

"And that is why I need your help," Loki said quickly.

 

Thor looked from Clint to Loki and back again, his brow furrowing in confusion.

 

"I do not understand," he said. "What help might I be if you are unwell?"

 

Clint looked helplessly towards Loki, silently begging him to explain.  It seemed that his thoughts had come to a screeching halt just as he was about to voice them.

 

Thor saw their silent exchange, the confusion on his face slowly morphing into concern.

 

"It is not my Hawk’s condition you need concern yourself with," Loki was quick to assure him.  "That is… out of our hands.  I am no healer, and neither are you.  You have something that we do not, and _that_ is the help we ask for."

 

There was the confusion once more, and Clint was more comfortable seeing that rather than think Thor cared one way or the other about his well-being.  He was barely used to _Loki_ giving a damn what happened to him.  He wasn’t sure how to handle anyone else’s concern.

 

The confusion was laced with a suspicion that Clint was well-versed in.  When dealing with Loki, it was better to be suspicious.

 

"I have a great _many_ things that neither of you possess," Thor said slowly.  "For one, I am able to get to the heart of the matter without wasting words speaking in riddles.  Speak plainly or not at all, Loki.  Whatever you need, you know I will do what I can to see that you have it.  But first you must tell me _what_ that is."

 

Loki had the grace to look chastened at Thor’s admonition.  “Of course,” he said.  “The ear of the All-Father is something I have not had in… well, if ever I did have it.  I know he will not hear me, but _you_ , brother… He would hear his son and heir, wouldn’t you agree?”

 

Thor’s eyes flickered between Clint, frozen in place on the couch, and Loki, who stood between them with guarded hope in his eyes.  His face betrayed nothing, though Clint could see the thoughts moving like thunderclouds in his eyes.

 

"It would depend on the asking," was all he said.

 

Loki took a deep breath, attempting to center himself before proceeding.  He could feel the nervous tremors beginning in his hands, and internally cursed himself as a coward.

 

Now was not the time to fall apart.

 

"Clint is losing his sight," Loki said quietly, willing his voice to remain steady.

 

Thor’s gaze snapped to the side, taking in the sight of the archer curled into himself on the couch, misery plain on his face.

 

" _No_ ," the blonde god whispered, a tinge of horror in his tone.

 

"Several weeks ago we learned that he has a rare condition, untreatable by Midgardian healers," Loki continued.  "In a year’s time he will be…blind."  His voice broke on the last word and Thor’s leonine head swung his way, spearing Loki with that familiar bright blue stare.

 

Thor huffed out a pained breath and sat, filling the easy chair that stood to the right of the couch.  He looked from Loki to Clint and back again before he spoke.

 

"What do you need of me," he asked softly.  "If I can be of assistance in this matter, simply tell me what to do, and I will deliver…provided it is within my power to do so."

 

Loki’s eyes squeezed shut, and he murmured, “Idunn’s apples, Thor.  We need but one, and Clint will be healed.”

 

"Healed, yes.  And more," Thor replied in a tight voice as his gaze swung back to Clint.  "Has Loki told you of _all_ the effects of Idunn’s apples?”

 

"He did," Clint answered tersely.

 

"Immortality is a heavy burden," Thor ground out.  "There are many sacrifices in choosing such a thing."

 

"I know.  Believe me, I know," Clint said wearily.  "And that’s why it took a few weeks for Loki to call you for help.  I had to really _think_ about what I was doing before I made a final decision.”

 

"And you are accepting of this?"

 

"I am," the archer stated firmly.  "I’m still fucking terrified…but accepting.”

 

Thor’s eyes stayed on Clint for much longer than he was comfortable with, but he refused to crack under their heavy stare.  He’d spent too long and fought too hard to back down now.  His answer would stay the same, no matter what Thor said or did.

 

"Loki… you are sure this is what you both _truly_ want?” he finally asked, turning to his brother with narrowed eyes.  “There can be no room here for uncertainty.”

 

Clint wanted to laugh at the look Loki shot him, as if even he could not believe how obtuse Thor could be.

 

"Thor, you know I would not ask for this from you, of _all_ people, if I was not certain.”

 

A dark shadow seemed to pass over Thor’s face at Loki’s words, and Clint knew he was missing something only the two of them were privy to.  

 

"No, I don’t suppose you would," Thor allowed, nodding his acceptance.  "I am happy for you both, that you have found each other.  And I will be just as happy to help in any way that I can to see that you remain together."

 

He turned to Clint, then, and the archer had to suppress the urge to straighten his spine under the full attention of the Thunder god.

 

"You, Clint Barton, have done something no other in an age has come close to," he intoned.  "You have brought my brother the happiness he could never find in anything or anyone else.  For that alone, I would aid you.  But you are also my friend, and my shield-brother, and as such, you may ask what you will of me."

 

Clint blinked, jaw slack.  “Uh… thanks.”

 

Thor’s brow knit as he took in the expression of shock on the archer’s face.  He huffed out a deep breath and dropped his gaze before saying quietly, “I know that we have not discussed this matter before.  Truth be told, we have not spoken much since the events of New York were laid to rest.  And I’m afraid that is my fault.”

 

The blonde god paused, mulling over his words.

 

"When I first learned that you had found one another," Thor said carefully.  "I was fearful.  I knew of the rage that you still carried within you, and I did not know what this union would bring.  I distanced myself so as not to become the voice of doubt; the naysayer in what looked to be a burgeoning relationship.  And as time passed, and all I saw was the growing happiness in Loki?  It eased my worry and warmed my heart."

 

Thor raised his eyes to Clint then, finishing, “You have my thanks.  For giving my brother the second chance he so _desperately_ needed.”

 

Clint swallowed down the ache in his throat before answering in a rough voice, “I can’t say it’s always been easy…and truthfully, I’m sort of surprised we managed to make it through the early days without killing one another.”  His gaze slid to Loki then, and he ground out, “But I’ve _never_ regretted it.  Not for one second.”

 

Loki smiled softly and reached out, stroking long fingers through Clint’s hair.  “Nor have I,” he murmured.  “And I wish for nothing more that to continue on as we have been.   _Together_.  Always.”

 

Thor nodded and pushed to his feet.  “Then so be it,” he said.  “I will plead your case before the All-Father.”

 

"And if he refuses," Loki asked hesitantly.

 

"Then we will seek other channels," Thor growled.  "I have learned that there are other ways than Father’s.  And I will not allow you to be deprived of the happiness you have found in one another."

 

"Thank you, brother," Loki breathed.  "I can never hope to repay you this boon."

 

"You can repay me by living a life filled with love and happiness, Loki," Thor said quietly.  "After all, that is all I ever wanted for you."

 

As Thor made his way to the door, Clint stood to his feet.

 

"Hey, big guy," he called out.  Thor turned to him, questioning.  "I, uh… I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone else about this."

 

Thor’s eyes held his for a moment before he replied.  “I have no reason to,” he said.  “It will stay between the three of us.  I am well aware of the risks this gift brings, especially to those ambitious enough to twist it to their purposes.”

 

Clint breathed a sigh of relief, and he gave Thor a nod of gratitude, which he returned with a tiny ghost of a smile.  Then he was gone, the door shut behind him and the sound of his heavy tread receding.  Moments later, the rain stopped abruptly, cut off as if it never was.

 

It was no surprise when Clint felt long fingers slide over the nape of his neck and grip firmly, and he let himself be pulled against the solid wall of Loki’s body.

 

"Did I not assure you my brother would not harm you?" Loki murmured against the top of his head.

 

"Yeah, yeah," Clint allowed, making no move to stop Loki’s arms from wrapping tightly around him.  "Can’t blame me for being nervous, though, right?"

 

A tiny smirk crossed Loki’s face at the thought of all of his other dalliances—and their unfortunate first meetings with the eldest of Odin’s heirs.  “I suppose I cannot,” he agreed, ”though I will tell you that Thor would have looked less favorably upon you had you not already proven yourself worthy long before now.”

 

Clint huffed a breath against Loki’s throat and furrowed his brow.  “What, that whole thing in New York?”  At Loki’s hum of agreement, Clint scoffed and ground his forehead into his shoulder.  “Not sure I proved anything there except how good a shot I can be.  How can he know anything about me just from that?”

 

Loki pulled away and took Clint’s face in his hands, his eyes hard, almost cold.  “Do not underestimate my brother’s intuition.  It is a mistake many others have made, and it is usually a costly one.  He is a true Asgardian warrior; he does not truly know someone until he has fought alongside them.  In that short time you fought together, he learned far more about you than you realize.”

 

"Fair enough," Clint said.  "Now quit smooshing my face, you’re giving me wrinkles."

 

Loki chuckled lightly before he murmured, “Of course, my love.  It would not do to mar that perfect face.”  The god stroked his fingertips down the archer’s cheek, smiling fondly at the man before him.

 

"So.  What do we do now,” Clint asked as he scrubbed one hand over the nape of his neck.

 

"Precisely what we were meant to before you were torn from our bed this morning," Loki stated.  "Nothing other than what we _wish_ to do.  We have a blissfully empty week before us, and I intend to make the most of our time together.”

 

"And Thor," Clint asked.

 

"Thor will return to us the moment he has an answer," Loki soothed.  "He will not dally in this matter."

 

"Yeah.  About that, actually," Clint ventured.  "When you said you wouldn’t ask Thor, ‘ _of all people_ ’…what did you mean by that?  It feels like there’s something you aren’t telling me."

 

Something in Loki’s face changed, then; it seemed to dim somewhat, a shadow that crossed behind his eyes.  He held Clint’s gaze for a few beats before turning away, but not before he could read the deep sadness he tried to hide.

 

"Loki?" he asked as the god took a few steps away, towards the couch, where he sat heavily.  Clint felt bereft without him there next to him; the past hour’s events had left him a bit emotionally tender, and he didn’t like the fact that Loki was distancing himself again.

 

"You are aware of Thor’s mortal woman, are you not?" Loki said, his voice quiet and subdued.  He kept his eyes on his hands, long fingers twining together, and didn’t look up when Clint stepped closer.

 

"Jane Foster," Clint was quick to respond.  "We’ve kind of been keeping tabs on her since New Mexico."

 

"Yes, well, let us just say that Thor’s fondness for her was perhaps a bit _more_ than she had anticipated," Loki said, and there was no mistaking the heavy note of bitterness in his voice.  "He made her the same offer I made you.  In the end, she chose her own mortality over the long years at my brother’s side."

 

Clint was silent for a long while, taking in Loki’s words and letting the full meaning absorb into his brain.  It was clear from Loki’s posture and tone that he was hurting, if even only for his brother’s sake, but Clint didn’t need any help reading between the lines.

 

Thor had experienced the very thing Loki had been so terrified of.  It hit him then, just how much his acceptance of Loki — of all that Loki was — meant to the god.  That he was willing to give up his mortality so that Loki would never have to be alone again, to want to stay at his side, especially after the way they’d started.

 

And for Loki to spend the long years of his punishment believing — knowing — that Clint hated him, he, the one being in his long life that inspired any kind of softer feeling within him, the one being whose forgiveness meant so much and who he knew could never forgive him… to have his trust and love returned, only to fear losing it all; it must have been so terrifying, those few weeks that Clint had taken to make his choice.

 

It made Clint feel very small, to think how selfish he’d been.  Although he hadn’t meant to, he’d been toying with the emotions of someone to whom emotion was never a game.  To draw out that agony, even for a moment, was cruel in a way Clint had never thought he could be.  He felt that guilt rising up, so strong and sudden that it hurt, and no amount of self-control was going to be able to keep it from showing.

 

His face crumpled as he sat next to Loki, and when the god finally turned to face him, he didn’t bother hiding the glimmer of tears that surge of pain had called up.

 

"Clint—" Loki began when he saw the gathering wetness.

 

"I’m sorry," Clint choked out.  "So _fucking_ sorry for doing that to you.  I shouldn’t have taken so long to tell you.  Such a fucking _coward_.”  The last word was forced out in a growl soaked in so much self-loathing he could almost taste it.

 

"Clint, don’t," Loki pleaded.  "It’s over with now.  The hardest part is behind us."

 

Clint dropped his eyes, still wet with the tears he refused to let fall.  “Still sorry.  I will never not be sorry for that, Loki.  Because…,” and there he had to stop before the tears did fall.

 

“ _‘Because’_ what, my Hawk?” Loki asked, treading softly before his skittish archer decided to close himself off once more.

 

Clint rubbed his hand down his face, sniffling once to keep the tears at bay before meeting Loki’s eyes again.

 

"Because I was _always_ gonna choose you," he said, his voice a rough whisper.  "I just had to convince myself first.  You gave me a choice, or you thought you did.  But it was never _really_ a choice, because it’s you, always you, every time.”

 

Loki’s breath hitched in his throat, and the sudden sharp ache in his chest shocked him into silence.  He held Clint’s gaze steadily as he struggled to find the right words to convey the depth of his emotion.

 

"And those are the words I have wished to hear for so very long, my Hawk,” the god murmured.  “Even before this; long before this moment…I hoped to hear those words pass your lips.”

 

He paused there, raising his hand once more to Clint’s cheek and cupping it.

 

"You are many things," he continued in a firm tone.  "A warrior, a friend, a good man…and my one true love.  But a coward?   _Never_.”

 

"I was afraid, though." Clint ground out.  "So fucking afraid."

 

"Fear is something altogether different from cowardice," Loki breathed.  "You can be fearful whilst still brave.  I know this very well; having had experienced it firsthand."

 

Clint leaned into Loki’s touch, letting his eyes drift shut as the god’s thumb stroked softly over the archer’s cheekbone.  “Still shouldn’t have taken so goddamn long,” he said in a strained tone.

 

"You took as long as needed, and not one moment longer," Loki growled.  "And I will not hear another word about your perceived status as a coward.  Not.  One.  Word.  Do you understand?"

 

Clint’s eyes cracked open, meeting Loki’s direct stare.  He slid one hand into the god’s fall of black hair, clenching tightly and drawing him closer.  “I understand,” he murmured.  “I may not quite _believe_ it…but I understand.”  

 

Of course Clint knew the difference between being afraid and being a coward.  Fear was not something one could un-learn; it was a visceral reaction, and something he’d learned to harness for his own uses.  He knew being afraid did not necessarily make him a coward.

 

It was what he did with that fear.

 

He didn’t turn it to anger, as he’d learned to do with what had been done to him in that lab so long ago.  He didn’t turn it into some morbid joke, as so many of his colleagues had known him to do.  No, this fear, he gave as much space as he could; examined it as little as possible, pretended it wasn’t there.  

 

This fear, he’d _hidden_ from.

 

And _that_ is the mark of true cowardice.

 

He’d like to think that eventually, he would have confronted it, bent it to his will as he’d done so many times before, but if he was completely honest with himself, he didn’t think he’d ever have taken that necessary step if he hadn’t been nudged in that direction.  If Fury hadn’t given him that order, if he hadn’t insisted that something be done to save his sight, by whatever means necessary, Clint didn’t think he’d ever have voiced his decision aloud.

 

The guilt gave a sharp twist in his chest at the thought of Loki still hanging on his every word, waiting, hoping for him to just tell him.

 

Loki didn’t like to hear what Clint truly thought of himself, and so he would try to keep from saying it out loud.  But the god couldn’t police his thoughts, or his feelings, and there was nothing that would keep that shred of self-loathing from surfacing now and again.

 

For now, though, he would let Loki have his moment; he’d gotten his answer, and they had the blessing of the only other person that mattered.  Clint didn’t realize until that moment just how much that meant to him; to learn that Thor not only didn’t dislike him — if not outright despise him — but to be considered a _friend_ as well.

 

Honestly, it was a bit overwhelming, though there was something hidden deep inside him that called up an ache he’d thought long dead.  Not since he’d severed ties with the last of his family had Clint felt the deep-seated need for anything resembling family.  He’d thought he’d found it in Tasha, but it was easy enough for him to see now how very wrong he’d been.

 

Then again, he was used to being stabbed in the back by his family, so it really shouldn’t have come as such a surprise.

 

Clint was thinking too much again, he could tell by the way Loki was looking at him, and he realized that he was probably letting a lot more show on his face than he would like.

 

"So," he said into the heavy silence that had fallen between them, "I guess this is really happening now.  No turning back, right?"

 

"It would seem so," Loki agreed, carefully.  "You are still having trouble with the thought of ‘forever’, aren’t you?"

 

"I’m fucking terrified," Clint said, and it was surprising to him just how easy it was for him to admit.  "But it’s what I want.   _You’re_ what I want.”

 

Loki closed the last bit of distance between them, brushing his lips across Clint’s own before whispering softly, “And this time, you will have what you want.  We both will.  Until the sun burns out and time itself comes to a standstill; we will be together.”

 

Clint let out a labored breath, and then chuckled, “That sort of talk doesn’t really soothe my fears, Princess.”

 

"No," Loki questioned, a playful note creeping into his voice.  "And _what_ , pray tell, might I be able to do in order to take your mind far from these troubled thoughts?”  The god stroked one long-fingered hand over Clint’s chest, pausing over the archer’s heart and thrilling to the way the rhythm increased under his touch.

 

"Oh…I could probably think of a thing or two," Clint murmured.

 

"So very _few_ ," Loki smirked.  "How simple you are to please, my Hawk."

 

"Well, one or two to _start_.  After all, we do have some time to kill.”

 

"Quite true," the god said, leaning in to press another soft kiss to Clint’s mouth before continuing.  "And even though we have all of eternity laid out before us, I am loathe to waste even a single moment."

 

And here was something else Clint had missed during the past few weeks; he’d been more than just emotionally distant while taking his time with his decision.  While he hadn’t exactly been trying to avoid their physical relationship, it had certainly suffered.  They hadn’t done much more than sleep beside each other.  He’d been too preoccupied, and Loki had been much too hesitant to initiate anything more.

 

Now, though, everything was different.  So much had changed from that very morning, when Fury’s call had roused him from a fitful sleep to report to the Helicarrier.  He’d left Loki with barely a word; something he still felt a sting of guilt over.  Since then, he’d been on such an emotional rollercoaster, and he wasn’t even close to leveling out from it yet.

 

Perhaps this would help to ground him; this he knew.  Having Loki beneath him, over him, surrounding or inside him, never failed to bring his focus back on point.  And as always, he preferred to have that point be Loki.

 

He wasted no more time with the teasing little pecks Loki was dropping on his mouth.  With a speed that nearly startled his god, Clint’s hand shot up to grasp the nape of his neck, pulling him into a harsh, searing kiss that told of all of the pent-up frustration and need he’d been keeping inside.

 

Loki moaned against him, fitting his mouth more firmly against Clint’s, his own hands burying themselves into short brown hair.  He answered Clint’s urgency with his own, each battling for the upper hand.

Clint let Loki take what he needed, giving up control without a fight — just this once — to make up for all the torment he’d put his damaged god through.

 

Loki felt a surge of arousal that caused his heart to stutter; the heat coiling in his belly like a living thing and clamoring for more even as Clint gave him exactly that.  The previous weeks had been a lesson in denial, and while the god was well versed at holding his want in check, it did not make it any more enjoyable to suffer through.

 

But Clint had asked for time to think, and Loki had delivered on his promise.  As much as he had wished to submit to his archer; as much as he longed to taste that golden skin on his tongue, he had restrained himself so as not to distract Clint from his introspection.

 

Now that answers had been given, and assistance procured, well, that restraint was no longer necessary.

 

Loki slid into Clint’s lap, straddling the man’s thighs even as he pushed him back into the couch and devoured the archer’s mouth.  He clung to his Hawk, teeth gently nipping and small, breathy noises of need spilling unchecked from his throat.

 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Clint groaned, his hands twining through Loki’s hair to hold him in place.  “Those sounds you make?  So not fair.”

 

Loki tugged against Clint’s grip, uttering a quiet gasp before murmuring, “Considering the effect that seems to have upon you, I shall be _certain_ to continue.”  Then he bent his head and reclaimed that greedy mouth.

 

This was what he needed; what they _both_ needed.  A physical translation of their tangled emotions.  A way to speak of the deep desire they shared without having to depend upon words alone.

 

And Loki was only too happy to allow his body to express what his tongue could not.

 

Clint moaned and arched as much as he could as Loki began to move atop him.  Simple shifts of his weight soon grew to hips rocking into his own, blessed friction against his growing arousal.  He could feel that Loki was right there with him, his need a hard line against his lower belly.  Clint’s hands left their places, drifting further down his spine, ghosting over the rippling muscles of his lower back.  They came to rest with a bruising grip at his hips, pushing and pulling to gain even more friction between them.

Loki’s whimper bled from between their lips at the slight almost-pain of Clint’s fingers digging into his flesh.  Clint couldn’t help the tiny grin against suddenly-slack lips, the slight stutter in the motion of his hips.

 

It never failed to boost Clint’s ego, knowing he, a mere mortal, could so profoundly affect someone as jaded as Loki, and with such small gestures.  Although he knew he would bruise anyone else, if not cause serious damage if he used even half the strength his fingers held, he didn’t have to worry about that with Loki.  His god may be damaged, broken and pieced back together again, but it would take much more than Clint was capable of to truly harm him.

 

Such a strange thing, he found himself thinking even as Loki continued to steal his breath and drive him mad with his movements, that the more he found himself caring for his dark god, the stronger the urge to hurt, to mark, to claim.  He wanted to see his fingerprints branded into pale skin; dark blooms ringed in red.  He wanted to _claw_ and _bite_ and _scratch_ his way under Loki’s skin, to climb inside until he was sure he could never be gotten rid of.

 

He wanted to hold onto Loki until he felt him _breaking_.

 

Loki seemed to sense the change in him; pulling back, he searched Clint’s eyes to find the archer’s burning gaze reflecting every bit of the possessiveness he held inside.  Anyone else looking into those flashing eyes might have been fearful, but not Loki; he knew exactly what Clint was feeling.  After all, he felt the very same.

 

"There is the fire I’ve missed so much," he breathed.  His hand slid from Clint’s hair to bracket his throat, and it was no surprise to him when he felt the pounding of his Hawk’s pulse against his palm; fast, strong, and nearly hot enough to burn him.  "Let go, my love.  I wish to have all of you.  Unbridle that damnable control and take what you need."

 

Clint needed no further urging; he’d been wound too tight for too long.  There was no reason to struggle against what he wanted, especially when it was being offered so freely.

 

With a sudden surge of strength that almost surprised Loki, Clint lifted them both from the couch.  A few strides brought them to a slamming halt against the far wall, and Loki’s gasp was lost when the archer took his mouth in a greedy kiss.  His hands came up to grip the shirt Loki wore, and with an impatient growl, ripped it up the middle until the pale expanse of Loki’s skin was bare before him.  He pulled the ruined fabric from his arms and brought his teeth to the edge of Loki’s collarbone.  There was just that half-second of warning before sharp teeth bit deep, drawing the blood to the surface only to be licked away as quickly as it could flow.

 

Loki’s gasp of pain-spiked pleasure only prompted him to bite again, further down to leave a bruise just above a dusky nipple.  Long, nimble fingers flew to the back of Clint’s head, to hold him in place or guide him, Clint didn’t know and didn’t care; he was going to show Loki the full extent of his ownership.

Loki shuddered at the feel of Clint’s teeth sinking into his flesh.  He’d missed this; missed the possessive nature of his Hawk; missed proudly wearing the marks of his passion emblazoned across pale skin.  Twining his fingers through the archer’s short hair, Loki tugged him gently back to his throat.

 

" _Again_ ," he rasped.  "I wish to feel your need.  Again.”

 

Loki’s head ground back into the wall as Clint uttered a quiet snarl before biting down.  The god’s hips tilted forward, back arching away from the plaster, seeking friction for his aching flesh.  Clint crowded him then, pressing one thigh between Loki’s legs, nudging them apart so he could settle more comfortably against the other man.

 

"Somebody seems a little eager," Clint growled, rolling his hips in a slow, teasing manner.

 

"Eager?  No," Loki panted.  "Desperate is the proper term, I believe.  I have been too long without you.”

 

Clint felt that familiar sting of guilt for a brief moment before pushing it firmly away.  “I’m here now,” he murmured, licking over the angry marks gracing Loki’s slender throat.  “And I’m not going anywhere.”

 

Loki voiced a small whine and bucked his hips, sliding one hand low to Clint’s back and tugging the archer tight against his need.  “Please, my Hawk,” he groaned.  “Please… _ruin me_?”

 

Clint couldn’t help the shudder that ran through his body at the sound of that rumbling plea right against his ear.

 

Loki wanted to be ruined; he would give him exactly what he wanted.

 

With one hand gripping the hair at the back of Loki’s head and the other taking firm hold of the waist of his pants, Clint tugged Loki away from the wall, pulling him in the direction of the bedroom.  Loki’s eyes fairly glowed at the way Clint kept them still pressed tightly together even as he guided him sightlessly down the hallway and into the dark of their room.  He sent a sharp grin down at his archer, fingers twining once more through his hair.

 

"I have missed this,” he moaned.

 

Clint nipped at his earlobe before growling into his ear, “Don’t worry, Princess.  I plan to make it up to you.”

 

So saying, he twisted around and shoved Loki down onto the bed, so suddenly that the god was nearly knocked windless.  He bounced to the sheets in a disgruntled tangle of dark hair and splayed limbs, and sent a scowl up at Clint that lacked any real heat.

 

All traces of that scowl disappeared when Clint lifted his shirt off over his head, tossing it off into a dark corner, eyes still locked onto his disheveled god.  Sitting up, Loki ran his hands over the newly-exposed skin of Clint’s lower belly, feeling the muscles tense and shift with his breathing.  He brought his tongue out and ran a hot line up the center of his belly, from the waist of his jeans to the center of his sternum, and Clint’s hands tangled in the dark fall of his hair.  They tightened on reflex when the god’s sharp teeth nipped at his skin, pulling his head back until Loki was blinking up at him.

 

"No biting," he said, his voice quiet but firm, as if Loki was meant to obey.  "Not yet.  Right now, all you have to do is lie back and take what I give you."

 

With that, Clint shoved Loki down to the sheets once more.

 

Loki pushed himself up onto his elbows and then fell still, holding his position as Clint stared down at him for a long moment.  The god’s breath came more ragged at the dark promise glinting in those steel blue eyes, and he murmured a quiet “…please?”

 

Clint held his silence as he kicked Loki’s feet apart and sank to his knees before the god.  “Begging already,” he questioned.  “You _must_ be desperate.”

 

He could feel the flush rising in his cheeks, yet he returned the archer’s glare steadily, giving a slight nod by way of reply.  Part of him was mortified that he’d been brought so low, and so very quickly.  But another, more insistent part of him tamped down that cursed pride and demanded to be satisfied, no matter the cost.

 

"Whatever is necessary, I will do," Loki panted, slicking his tongue over his lower lip before continuing.  "If you wish me to beg; I will beg.  If you want my tears, then I shall drown you in them.  Anything you ask, my Hawk, will be yours."

 

Clint leaned in, nuzzling against the hard line of Loki’s arousal and drinking in the god’s needy moans.  “Told you already that I’m gonna make it all up to you,” he said in a rough whisper.  “You don’t need to beg, Loki, and I sure as hell don’t want to cause you any more tears.  Just…lay back and let me give you what you need.”

 

Loki reached out and cupped Clint’s cheek, giving a wry smile before lowering himself once more to the sheets.  “Of course,” he acquiesced, relaxing as the archer’s hands began to stroke up his thighs.  “You need simply ask and I will comply.”

 

Clint smirked.  “So accommodating,” he quipped as he slipped his fingers beneath the waist of Loki’s pants and tugged, nearly pulling them off completely; the only thing keeping them on was the straining flesh of his erection.  “Although I can’t really blame you; if I was getting my way, I’d be pretty accommodating, too.”

 

Loki huffed out an unamused breath.  “I cannot be held to blame for getting my way when it is also what you want, now can I?”

 

Clint’s eyes flashed up at him in a predatory glare as he ripped Loki’s pants down his legs with a harsh tug.  “Point,” he conceded.

 

Taking the heavy flesh in hand, he smirked up into darkening green eyes; Loki’s body went completely still for a brief, halting moment before those hips rose unchecked into his grip.

 

It had been much too long since Clint had held Loki in his hands, felt the god’s pulse beating under his palm, against his tongue, heard the hitch in his breath at the almost-agony of that first initial contact.  He watched closely as Loki came alive under his touch, the way his eyes rolled back before the lids fluttered shut, his mouth dropped open on a nearly soundless moan.  His thumb brushed up the underside of the straining flesh and he watched the muscles of Loki’s lower belly tighten and convulse, his fingers gripping the sheets with white knuckles.

 

It had been too long for Loki, as well, Clint knew.  He wouldn’t be able to tease him for very long, if at all.  He could hear the desperate edge to his panting gasps, verging on sobs already, and Clint had barely touched him.  The flesh in his grip wasn’t just hard, it was throbbing with need, Clint could feel him pulsing with each beat of his heart.  He was leaking already, and before he could even think about what he was doing, Clint was following the trail of moisture with his tongue before sealing his lips over the head of Loki’s cock.

 

Loki’s howl could probably have been heard all the way to Asgard.

 

Loki shuddered and shook, his fists tightening and pulling at the sheets until they popped loose from the corners of the mattress.  The fire in his belly intensified as Clint hollowed his cheeks and _sucked_ , prompting yet another ragged cry from the god.  Loki ground his head back into the bed, fighting to hold his hips still as Clint pressed forward, swallowing him inch by slow inch.

 

The heat of the archer’s mouth was nearly unbearable, and Loki moaned through gritted teeth, determined to follow Clint’s orders.  He’d been told to lay back and take what was given, and he intended to do just that, for as long as he was able.

 

Clint paused as the head of Loki’s cock nudged the back of his throat.  He took in a deep breath through his nose and pushed, taking in the final few inches.

 

And then he began to swallow.

 

Loki’s hips bucked once, unbidden, and Clint’s hands gripped him tightly, forcing him still as he pulled back, flicking the tip of his tongue under the crown.  The god rewarded his efforts with a quiet whimper, and Clint chuckled.

 

"Liked that, did you," he asked in a throaty whisper.

 

"Y-yes," Loki moaned.  "Please…again?"

 

The archer smirked, giving a quick lick across the head of Loki’s cock before murmuring, “Hold still and I’ll give you _whatever_ you want, Princess.”

 

Loki nodded frantically, stilling his traitorous hips and driving even, white teeth into his lower lip.

 

" _Good boy_ ," Clint growled, and licked a hot, wet stripe up the underside of the god’s length before swallowing him down once more.

 

Now it was Clint’s turn to shudder as he took his god as deep as he could; the taste of him on his tongue, the feel of him stretching his jaw wide, the thumping cadence of his pulse filling his throat.  

Cracking his eyes open, Clint gazed up the heaving expanse of Loki’s chest to catch a glimpse of his face; his eyes squeezed shut in agonized bliss, teeth bared in a snarl of denial even as his thighs trembled with the effort of holding still.

 

Clint felt a surge of such fierce possessive lust that, had he been able, he would have let loose a growl to rival a Jotunn.  Instead, his fingers turned to raking claws, nails digging into the softer flesh of Loki’s inner thighs nearly hard enough to draw blood.  The shuddering gasp of shocked pain it pulled from Loki’s throat caused Clint’s eyelids to flutter shut, and he pressed his tongue to the underside of Loki’s cock and sucked.

 

There was not one god damned thing Clint would not do for his fallen god in that very moment.  He would choke himself on his cock until his breath failed; he would shed blood, sweat, come, tears, anything for him if he only asked.

 

When Loki finally did speak, it was a ragged, moaning plea, ripped from deep within and fluttering on the gust of a panting breath;

 

“ _More…_ ”

 

 _Anything you want, Princess_ , Clint thought to himself as he gripped Loki’s thighs to either side of his head and spread him wider.  He pulled back just enough to get a breath and slick his fingers; taking Loki so deep gave him more than enough to work with when it came to impromptu lube.  It couldn’t always be Loki’s little spells.

 

At the first brush of fingertips against his opening, Loki’s body nearly snapped, he was wound so tight.  Clint distracted him by pulling back, swirling his tongue in a sinuous pattern up the underside of his cock to circle the crown before making his way back down.  The moan Loki let loose was more a sob, ending with a hitching breath and a toss of his head.  Clint looked back up at him, more than halfway certain he would see the telltale tracks of tears leaking from his eyes.  There were none, not quite yet, and he breathed a sigh of relief through his nose;  he really had no intention of making Loki cry, not tonight, nor ever again if he could help it.

 

Not even the tears that came with a really, _really_ good blowjob.

 

Before Loki could recover his composure, before he cracked his eyes open to see the completely unguarded look his Hawk was gifting him, Clint slid his fingers inside.

 

Loki exploded into motion, hips driving down to take the archer just that much deeper as a sobbing cry broke from between bared teeth.  He undulated, quaked and shook, responding to each soft stroke, every plunging twist to those clever, seeking fingers.  And when Clint found the god’s hidden spot, pressing gently into that inflamed bundle of nerves, Loki tipped back his head and screamed.

 

Clint pulled off of Loki’s cock, giving a long, slow lick before he growled, “Found you.”  With a breathy chuckle he began to rub in small, firm circles and took just the tip of the god’s length between his lips, suckling lightly.

 

The gibbering noises spilling from Loki’s throat were most likely words, but Clint definitely didn’t recognize the language.  Nor did he really care; he just knew he wanted to wring more of those sounds from the god.

 

Releasing his hold on Loki’s thigh, Clint slid his fingers around the god’s length, caging his insistent flesh even as he continued to tease that spot so deep inside.

 

Another keening cry bubbled up from Loki’s chest, and the god snapped his hips up, seeking the heat of the archer’s throat.

 

"Please," he rasped.  "Deeper… _harder_!”

 

Clint’s own neglected arousal gave an insistent pulse at the wanton plea.  He didn’t know if Loki meant his mouth or his fingers when he said _‘deeper’_ , but it didn’t really matter, as he swallowed him back down to the base in the same moment he pushed a third finger inside.

 

Loki’s body stilled, his eyes wide, mouth gaping on a soundless cry at the sudden feeling of fullness.  He let his breath out in a shuddering moan, one which Clint echoed at how tight Loki felt around his knuckles.  He didn’t think his god damn fingers could feel that kind of pleasure, but he wasn’t particularly surprised, either.

 

When Clint began to move over Loki’s length, he tightened even further around him, almost too tight to move, but Clint was determined to give his god everything he asked for.  He wanted deeper, and he was going to damn well give it to him.

 

The cries and moans and whimpers and breathless pants that followed were almost enough for Clint; he hadn’t even been touched yet and he was already on the verge of coming in his pants.  Weeks of being on edge, of being so uncertain about so many things had left his body as desperate as Loki’s.  It was no wonder he was finding so much pleasure in the display Loki was putting on.  With his cock or his fingers, it didn’t matter; Clint was still fucking him, and that was more than enough to get his brain off.  The body would, predictably enough, follow suit.

 

But he’d be damned if that was all he got.

 

Slowly, reluctantly, Clint backed off, slowing the motions of his fingers, pulling back until he once more had Loki resting heavy on his tongue.  He let the body beneath him calm, easing Loki carefully away from the edge of release.

 

Of course, he didn’t want to be denied, and Clint felt a small swelling of guilt once more, but pushed it away before he could change his mind.  He was doing this for Loki’s sake, and even if the god used every pretty word he knew to entice Clint into letting him fall over that edge, he wouldn’t be swayed.

Loki would fall, but only because Clint allowed him to.

As Clint backed off, Loki voiced a piteous whine that almost changed the archer’s mind.  He sounded so _raw_ ; so _wanting_.

 

It only served to drive Clint’s arousal that much higher.

 

"Tell me what you need, Loki," Clint panted, his warm breath ghosting over the head of the god’s straining cock.  "C’mon…don’t be shy."

 

"I need you…only you," Loki gasped, the tremors in his belly overflowing to wrack his entire body.  "Whatever you deem me worthy to receive, _that_ is what I want.”

 

Clint chuckled, wrapping his lips once more around the god’s girth and sucking harshly before pulling back.

 

"Not good enough," he growled.  “ _Tell me._ ”

 

Loki’s hip bucked and one hand left it’s nest in the sheets to card through the archer’s hair.  The look he speared the man crouched between his thighs with was so full of heat that Clint could nearly feel the burn of it upon his skin.

 

"Tell me," he repeated, and slowly pressed his fingers deeper into Loki’s body, twisting slightly.  "Am I gonna have to break you for you to fess up?"

 

"Yes," Loki sobbed.  "That is what I need.  To be broken beneath you.  Fuck me, Clint.  Pin me down and fuck me.  Fill me so full that I cannot think; use me until I lose my words.  Fuck me…please?”

 

"That wasn’t so hard, was it," the archer murmured, pulling his fingers free from Loki’s clenching heat and rising to his knees.  He bent low over the god, capturing his mouth in a brutal kiss before straightening to look down at the wanton mess splayed before him.  "Just like always, Princess.  You just gotta ask.”

 

Looking down at the shuddering mess Loki had become, Clint felt another almost painful throb of arousal pulse through him.  Teeth bared, eyes wild, hair mussed and tangled and falling over his shoulders, he writhed upon the dark sheets in a dance meant to lure Clint into taking.

 

He had to admit, it was beginning to work.  Clint wanted nothing more than to fall to the sheets with him, let those arms twine around his shoulders, those legs wrap around his waist and pull him in as close as he could.  When Loki’s hips left the bed, accompanied by a lip-biting whimper, and he saw Loki’s cock twitch against his lower belly, Clint knew he could no longer hold back.

 

Loki’s eyes were riveted to the sight of strong, sure fingers unbuckling his belt.  The sound of leather sliding free of metal made his eyes flash like a predator catching sight of its’ prey, and Clint didn’t think he even realized when the tip of his tongue came out to slick his lower lip.  His own hands were not idle; it seemed he couldn’t keep still, his hands sliding up and down the flat planes of his belly, over his hips, bracketing his straining arousal though refusing to touch himself directly.

 

It seemed he wanted to feel only Clint’s hands upon him.

 

Clint had to close his eyes against the sight of Loki teasing himself or he really would lose it before he’d begun.  He made quick work of removing the rest of his clothes, kicking the pile of denim into a dark corner before sliding between Loki’s thighs.  The sheets were cool against the furnace Loki had become; Clint could feel the heat coming off of him in waves, nearly in time with his thudding pulse.

Only then did Clint fully realize quite how close to the surface Loki’s true nature was.  Though he always ran a bit warmer than Midgardians, he was always scorching hot in his Jotunn form.  He was still pale and, though dark with lust-blown pupils, his eyes were still green.  Clint knew what lurked just beneath the surface.

 

Running one hand up the center of Loki’s chest, Clint leaned down and licked up the side of his throat.

"Getting a little worked up," he murmured into his ear.

 

Loki shuddered at the sound of his Hawk’s voice so near.  “Yes,” he admitted, his voice a hoarse rasp.  “Please, Clint.   _Please_!”

 

Clint let his pleased growl rumble against his pulse as he settled between Loki’s thighs.  “Get ready for me, then,” he said, punctuating his demand with a thrust of his hips.

 

The god murmured a quiet incantation as his hands left his own pale flesh to run over Clint’s back.  He writhed and panted, fingertips drawing abstract patterns on the archer’s golden skin as Clint ground down against him.  Loki uttered a broken gasp at the harsh friction which quickly morphed into a series of insistent whines, and the god’s eyes washed red.

 

“ _Now_ , Clint,” he growled, canting his hips up.  “Do not make me wait any longer.”

 

"Well aren’t you demanding," the archer breathed before sinking his teeth into the column of Loki’s throat.  The heavy taste of copper flooded his mouth, and he pulled back, sending a smirk down to the god beneath him even as he licked his lips clear of blood.

 

Loki answered with a snarl, baring teeth gone far sharper than they were a moment before.  He surged up, twisting and pulling Clint under him, crouching over the archer as his pale visage gave over to glacial blue.

 

"You have no idea,” Loki rumbled, a low growl cycling deep in his chest.

 

Clint wasn’t waiting any longer; if he ever needed a sign, this was definitely it.

 

Matching Loki’s growl with one of his own, Clint gripped Loki’s hips and surged up, filling him with one brutal thrust.

 

Loki threw his head back and roared, dark nails digging into Clint’s shoulders until the skin parted and the red bloomed.  The body atop him shuddered, and Clint had to bite back a groan at the feeling of so much heat surrounding him.  He’d never taken Loki in this form, never felt him clamp down like a vice, never felt just how very _hot_ he was.

 

Panting, Loki looked back down, his glowing red eyes locked with steel blue.  A slow grin spread over his face, white fangs peeking from between blue lips.  He sent a purring growl to float in the air between them as he smeared Clint’s blood against his skin, painting abstract shapes with long, deadly fingers.

 

"You are always so _good_ at giving me what I need, me Hawk," he rumbled, shifting his hips to take Clint deeper.

 

"Told you I would," Clint groaned.  His eyes squeezed shut against the electric jolt of pleasure that one small movement sent up his spine.  Loki wasn’t the only desperate one, here; it had been just as long for Clint, and he’d had nothing to take the edge off the past few weeks.

 

This was going to be quite the exercise in self-control.

 

Loki’s smile widened, and he circled his hips, watching carefully as Clint’s eyes cracked open to send a raw look his way.  The archer’s fingers still dug into Loki’s flesh, fighting a losing battle to hold the god still.

 

"Yes, you did," Loki murmured.  "But I can see the depth of your need.  It _burns_ in your gaze.”

 

He tensed then, rising slightly before sinking back down and earning a strangled moan from the man beneath him.

 

"How eager you are,” the god teased.  “And yet, holding back so desperately.”

 

"You just… _fuck_ …you feel so goddamn good like this,” Clint panted, giving the tiniest thrust of his hips.  “So tight; so fucking hot.”

 

Loki voiced a pleased hum before leaning down to lap at the crimson streaks decorating the archer’s shoulders.  That roughened tongue paired with the slowly rocking motion of Loki’s body atop his fanned the flames in Clint’s belly higher, and he bit down, hard, on the inside of his cheek, hoping to center himself with a spike of pain.

 

The taste of copper, and the sting of the bite pulled him back from the edge, but it was a brief respite, at best.

 

And as Loki truly came alive atop him; rolling his hips in a rhythmic dance of lust, the archer clenched his teeth and focused on matching the god, motion for motion.

 

”Yes,” Loki hissed, his head falling forward as Clint pumped deep into him from below.  “ _This_ is what I have missed; the brand of your claim so deep within me.  Taking all that I am for your own.  I am _yours_ , Clint.”

 

Clint could barely register Loki’s words, but the meaning was not lost on him.  Loki was speaking just as clearly with his body as with his words, and it was a language Clint had become quite fluent in.  His hands left their places at Loki’s hips and travelled up the slope of his spine, nails scratching against the raised lines of Loki’s markings, and the god writhed like a cat in heat atop him.

 

Lifting himself from the bed, Clint pulled Loki firmly into his lap, fingers winding through the dark mess of his hair to grip tightly.

 

“ _Mine_ ,” he growled.

 

Loki’s own growl echoed his claim.  “ _Yours_.”

 

Clint’s eyes locked onto Loki’s even as the god continued the torturous motion of his hips.  His body strained to its limits, every muscle tense and trembling, on the verge of snapping, and he dimly felt a few strands of Loki’s hair cutting into the skin of his fingers, his hold was so tight.

 

Then Loki was pulling back, putting distance between them to brace on his palms against the mattress.  Clint’s eyes trailed down the long, lean torso, following those hypnotic markings that seemed to guide him to those wickedly sinuous hips.  Loki hadn’t stopped moving, and Clint was able to see every shift and flex of muscle beneath cobalt skin.

 

 _Mine_ , his mind repeated, and this time it was with a sense of wonder, that this powerful, graceful, deadly creature had tied himself to someone like him.

 

"I can feel the rhythm of your pulse within me," Loki purred.  "The thump of your heart echoed in the movements of your body.  It calls to me…"

 

"Yeah," Clint questioned in a low tone.  "And what’s it saying?"

 

"It begs for _more_ ," the god answered.  "Your hunger is never-ending…as is mine."

 

Clint arched his hips, gaze wandering over the flat plane of Loki’s belly and noting the tremors just beneath the skin.  He reached out, stroking his fingertips against the heated flesh, and teasing over the hard line of Loki’s arousal.

 

"You got me there, Princess," the archer gasped.  "I can never get my fill of you."

 

"Nor I you," Loki murmured before guiding Clint’s hand back to his cock.  "Let me feel your touch, my Hawk.  Even as you break me apart from within, I ache to have your hands upon me."

 

Clint felt a smirk tug at the corner of his mouth, even as he wrapped his fingers around Loki’s firm flesh.  He gave a long, slow pull that caused the god’s head to fall back, turning sightless eyes to the ceiling.

 

"Yes," Loki breathed.  "Just like that…"

 

Clint felt him tighten around him even more; something he hadn’t thought possible until he had to bite back a groan, eyes squeezed shut against the sight of Loki writhing in his lap.

 

"God damn it, I think you’re trying to kill me," Clint panted, stilling his hips to lessen the suddenly overwhelming friction.  His hand never stilled against Loki’s flesh, however, and he concentrated on that rather than the heat smothering his cock.

 

"Hardly, my Hawk," Loki purred, cracking claret eyes open to take in the furrowed brow and tortured grimace.  "I’ve just gotten you to agree to eternity.  An eternity of _this_.”

 

So saying, Loki twisted his hips, driving down into Clint’s lap and pulling a wail from the archer’s throat.  Strong, callused fingers clamped down on the searing flesh of Loki’s cock, squeezing almost to the point of pain, and the pleased rumble in his chest rose into a growl of lust so fierce Clint had to open his eyes to look.

 

His god was nowhere to be seen in this wanton creature; fangs bared and eyes flashing — literally flashing, they sparked like embers in time with his pulse — Loki was the very picture of primal need.  Clint felt as though he should be afraid, and he might have been if he hadn’t trusted Loki to never hurt him.  Even in this, even as unrestrained as he was in this form, Clint would never fear Loki harming him.

After all, it wasn’t his blood Loki wanted.

 

The lustful growl swelled into a snarl, and once more Loki twisted, pulling Clint down atop him.  The god’s thighs fell open, giving the archer room to move even as he demanded, “Fuck me, Clint.   _Now_.  Loosen the tight hold you have upon your need and _use_ me.”

 

The rumbling baritone of Loki’s voice hit Clint deep in the pit of his stomach, and he snapped his hips, driving into the searing heat of the god’s body.

 

"Goddamn it, Loki," Clint panted.  "Don’t fucking _tempt_ me like that.  I can’t hold out forever, y’know, and I don’t want this to end too soon."

 

"I know," Loki murmured.  "But we have _forever_ , my Hawk.   _Forever_ to play this particular game and wring as much pleasure from the other as we can stand.”

 

Clint bent low over the god, mouthing along the tense line of Loki’s throat as he slowed his hips, rolling them at a languid pace.

 

"Still doesn’t mean I want to rush this," he breathed, nipping at Loki’s frantic pulse.  "Been waiting too long, and I’m gonna give you everything you need.”

 

”Everything,” Loki groaned in agreement.  “Of that I have _no_ doubt.”

 

"So quit trying to distract me and let me get on with it," Clint said, just before dipping his head and latching on to the jutting ridge of Loki’s collar bone.

 

The deep, purring growl rose from Loki’s chest like an aftershock, and Clint felt it through his entire body.  He kept his pace unhurried, but there was no denying the pleasure of seating himself as deeply as he could manage.  The heat of Loki’s body seemed to beckon to him; he was almost loathe to pull back, even though it meant he could push forward once more.

 

As ravenous as Loki had proven himself to be in this form before, when taking what he could from Clint, it seemed he was equally as greedy when it came to giving himself up.  He always wanted faster, harder,deeper, _more_.  It wasn’t clear to Clint if Loki even realized he was babbling out loud, begging and pleading with words just as much as with his body.

 

Clint stayed true to his word — he gave Loki _everything_ he asked for.

 

The neighbors would likely complain — _again_ — but Clint seemed determined to slam the bed straight through the wall with the force of his thrusts.  The more he gave, the more insistent Loki’s cries became.  When he finally deigned to pick up his pace, Loki howled, his legs coming up to wrap around Clint’s waist, to pull him closer until his neglected arousal was trapped between them.

 

" _Please_ ," he ground out between clenching fangs.  Clint could hear them grinding together.  "Please, my Hawk…"

 

Without missing a beat, Clint looked down at his debauched god and said, “ _‘Please’_ what, Princess?  Tell me what you need.”

 

 _And do it fast, because I don’t think I can keep this up much longer_ , he finished in his own mind.

 

Loki bared his teeth in a feral grin, arching up to meet every harsh thrust and grinding his cock against Clint’s belly.

 

"What do I _want_ ," the god questioned in a low purr.  "What is it that I _always_ want?   _You_ , my Hawk.  I want you _above_ me, _around_ me, _within_ me.  Pin me down and _dominate_ me.  Take what you need and show me the _full_ measure of your lust.”  Loki paused briefly, running his roughened tongue over his lower lip before breathing out a quiet, “Please?  Ruin me?”

 

The archer’s eyes clenched shut against the sight of Loki gazing so rapturously up at him.  Those words, in that voice, and paired with the mental images Loki called up had Clint skating on the edge, the tension coiled around the base of his spine about to snap.

 

"Turn over," he ground out, willing his voice not to shake.  "You’re gonna get what you want."

 

Loki surged up and captured Clint’s mouth, kissing him deeply before pulling free of the archer’s grip.  He went to his knees, spreading them wide and dropping his upper chest to the bed, arching his back sharply.  The god’s hands took hold of the sheets above his head, and he cast a quick look back over one shoulder, smirking at the slack-jawed expression on Clint’s face.

 

"Like so," Loki asked smugly, giving the smallest wiggle to his hips.

 

Clint’s hands slid up the outside of Loki’s thighs, across his hips and bit into his waist, tugging the god back to meet him.

 

"That’s…perfect," the archer murmured, and slowly pushed back into Loki’s clenching heat.  "So _fucking_ perfect.”

 

And it was; everything was perfect in that moment, from the arch of Loki’s spine to the heat of his body surrounding his cock.  Even the small huffs of his breath, muffled against the sheets, was perfect, the way his fingers gripped and tugged at the sheets until they pulled completely free from the mattress.  The way Loki completely lost himself to the feeling of Clint moving within him.

 

Without those luminous eyes watching his every movement, the hands scrabbling and pulling him in every direction at once, Clint was able to ease away from the edge of release, the flames of his lust banking just enough for him to keep his composure for a little while longer.

 

And very soon, Loki wouldn’t have the _breath_ to make those oh-so enticing demands of him, either.

 

Clint thrust into him languidly for a few moments more before he gripped Loki’s hips and slammed forward, burying himself to the hilt with such jarring force that Loki slid forward a few inches in the tousled sheets.  The quiet, panting gasps turned to a near-howl, and Clint had to use every bit of his own strength to keep Loki still.

 

“ _Again_ ," came the familiar demanding growl.  Red eyes flashed at him from over Loki’s shoulder as those rebellious hips pushed back, trying to take him deeper.

 

Clint glared back, baring his own blunt teeth in a snarl to match Loki’s before taking the nape of the god’s neck in a tight grip, forcing his head back down to the mattress.

 

"Told you I’d give you what you want," he said with a growl of his own.

 

With one hand gripping Loki’s waist tightly and the other tight around the back of his neck, Clint lowered his head and his control and let his body take what it wanted from the kneeling god.

 

The archer drove into the pliant body beneath him, hips rhythmically pumping in time to his racing heart.  He’d expected Loki to fight back against his hold; to writhe and screech and beg for more…and yet, the god had gone still.  Loki drew in a shuddering breath, and Clint felt him relax further, the tension seeming to drain away even as he firmed his grip on Loki’s nape.

 

And with a start, Clint realized that this was _exactly_ what his wayward god had needed all along.

 

Clint leaned forward, nudging Loki’s thighs further apart and pressing his body down to the mattress even as he brought his lips to the god’s ear to growl out, “That’s it, Loki.   _Submit_.”

 

A thin whimper bled from Loki’s throat, followed by a near silent, “Yes.”

 

“ _‘Yes’_ , what,” Clint murmured, thrusting deep and holding his position as he awaited the god’s answer.

 

"Yes, Agent Barton," Loki panted.  "Make me take all that you have.  Force me, fuck me, break me…I…I _submit_.”

 

Those words did something very strange to Clint.  He felt the heat flare up from his belly, and rather than settle low in his gut as it usually did, it rose up to choke off his air.  It twined around his lungs and squeezed his heart like a tight fist until he was gasping for breath.  His body shuddered and nearly froze, eyes squeezed shut in a strange mixture of awe and bliss.

 

Never had Clint thought those words would come from Loki’s mouth, in this form least of all.  He’d heard his god beg and whine and moan like a whore beneath him, but _never_ this, _never_ with those words.

 

Loki wanted him.  Lusted after him.  Loved him.  All of this, Clint knew.  Loki was never shy when it came to admitting how very much he was enthralled with him.

 

This, though… It spoke of more than mere lust; more than just a base desire for his body.  Loki wanted to _belong_ to him, in every way.

 

Clint realized then exactly how much of himself Loki had invested in their relationship, how much he had gambled on every bit of affection Clint had shown him.  From the very start, Loki had been doling out pieces of himself, hoping Clint would take them, but never knowing for certain if they would be accepted.

 

But now Clint had seen him as he truly was.  There was no more left to give that hadn’t already been taken.  That Clint saw, knew, and still wanted him, meant that Loki could finally give himself over completely.

 

It was enough to bring the tears back into Clint’s eyes.

 

He never stopped his movements, and because Loki couldn’t see him, he had no idea the effect his words had upon his Hawk.  Clint was grateful, and for perhaps the first time in his life, he didn’t try to hold onto his tears.  Let Loki think it was the sweat of his exertions dripping onto his back.

 

Loki felt the bite of Clint’s fingers on his nape, the sting of his nails buried in his hip serving to highlight how very owned he was by the man moving within him.  A sense of calm had overtaken the god the very moment he had voiced his submission; an alien feeling that was in direct opposition of his Jotun nature.

 

And yet, he welcomed it.

 

His senses were heightened in this form, and as he splayed on the bed, a boneless, pliant thing, Loki felt the scratch of the sheets against his heated flesh, heard the sound of Clint’s labored breathing, smelled the scent of salt far sharper than mere sweat could…

 

Oh.

 

Tears.  His archer had been moved to tears by his surrender.

 

And while Loki yearned to draw Clint to him and lick away the signs of his emotion, he knew that to call attention to such would simply cause the man to shut down.  So he swallowed back the urge and instead canted his hips, letting a low purr gather in the back of his throat as Clint drove him closer to the edge.

 

Clint bit back the almost overwhelming surge of emotion in favor of giving Loki what he needed.And having Clint fall apart literally on top of him wasn’t it, and so he let the god’s body give him the cues he needed.

 

A squeeze to his nape brought the purr to a growl that Clint could feel through his entire body.  When he lowered his head to lick a trail between Loki’s shoulders, he felt more than heard the low moan of contentment rumble in his chest.  Sinking his teeth into the flesh of his shoulder caused him to buck sharply beneath him, hips twisting as if to take him deeper.

 

As if he could get any deeper.

 

Finally, Clint lowered his mouth to Loki’s ear, letting his breath wash over the sensitive shell.  “Mine, Loki,” he murmured, and bit back a moan at the shudder that wracked Loki’s frame at the sound of his voice.  “Every bit of you.  Everything you are.   _Mine_."

 

He nipped at the lobe of his ear before finishing in a near-silent whisper.

 

“ _Forever_.”

 

And there was the heart of the matter.  All of Loki’s wants and wishes conveyed by one small word.

 

Forever.

 

It was more than he’d ever hoped for; more than he’d ever believed he’d deserved, lest of all from someone like Clint.

 

For far too long Loki had thought himself unlovable; too _damaged_ to have that which others seemed to find so easily.  He had given up any hopes of companionship, building the walls around his heart tall and strong in preparation for the long, lonely years that stretched before him.  Once he had finally resigned himself to a solitary existence; the god chose instead to focus on his hunger for power, ignoring that fact that he was blindly seeking anything that might mask his pain.

 

And then, unexpected and unbidden, Clint Barton had entered his life.

 

Loki shuddered in Clint’s grasp, the archer’s words echoing in his ears even as the long road that had brought them to this point replayed in his mind.  It came and went in a blink.  The enthrallment followed all too soon by his defeat and punishment.  The time spent in Hel dreaming of his Hawk.  The chance meeting at the coffeehouse, and the blush that rose in Loki’s cheeks when Clint had first realized the god’s deeper feelings.

 

A myriad of memories rose to mist Loki’s eyes and twine around his heart, squeezing tightly.

 

" _Forever_ ," he repeated in a soft murmur, fighting to quell the tremors in his voice before he continued.  ""There is nothing I have ever desired quite as much."

 

Clint lowered himself to Loki’s back, pinning the god firmly to the mattress.  He felt the slight tremors coursing through the body beneath him; Loki wasn’t nearly as good at hiding things from him as he thought, not when Clint was this close, not when he was inside him, not when he knew what passed through his broken god’s mind at times like these.

 

His hand left the nape of Loki’s neck, bringing a soft whine of protest from him before sliding his forearm beneath him to press against his throat.  The other left his hip to burrow under Loki’s chest, holding him tightly.  His hips slowed until he was sliding deep and unhurried, pressing against that secret spot with each thrust.

 

Loki’s breath hitched at the sudden gentling of his movements, the constriction across his throat and the feel of Clint’s hand over his thumping heart.  Clint pressed his face to the back of Loki’s head, breathing in the scent of sweat and sex.  There was something oddly calming about Loki’s scent when he was in this form; it was hard to describe, and all Clint could really think of was the smell that lingered in his nostrils after a near-brush with death; adrenaline and smoke and fear and triumph all mixed together.

 

"I told you I would give you what you want," Clint murmured into his ear.  "For as long as you want me, I’m yours."

 

Loki purred, the sound oddly choked.  Clint wasn’t sure if it was because of his hold on him, or something else.  Possibly a little bit of both.

 

"Forever, then," Loki ground out as Clint’s forearm tightened against his throat.  "And not _one_ moment less."

 

The god could hear Clint swallow harshly, and then felt the movement as the archer nodded even as his hand pressed more firmly to Loki’s heart.  A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and he lifted his hips, urging Clint on; begging with his body.

 

Even with the myriad of times Loki had voiced this very want, it still never failed to deeply affect Clint.  He wasn’t 100% sure why the god wanted him so badly, but he’d learned not to question it; choosing instead to focus on the want itself.

 

Clint rolled his hips, continuing the slow, steady pace he’d set and teasing increasingly needy cries from the god beneath him.  He could feel the frenzied thump of Loki’s pulse against his forearm, giving him a clear sign as to Loki’s level of arousal.

 

He was close.

 

So _very_ close.

 

And Clint wasn’t about to break his promise.

 

"I can feel you," the archer breathed, giving a small nip to the lobe of Loki’s ear.  "How tight you’re getting…the way you’re shaking?  You’re right on the edge, aren’t you?"

 

"Y-yes," Loki stammered, his hips lifting from the bed.

 

"But you’re not gonna come yet," Clint growled.  "Not until I let you…”

 

“Please,” Loki whimpered.  “Let me?  I want…I _need_ to…”

 

"Don’t worry, Princess.  I’ll give you what you need.  But not until I’m ready."

 

With that, Clint lifted himself from Loki’s back.  When Loki gave a mournful whine, Clint had to grind his teeth and clench his eyes shut.  The very last thing he wanted was to deny Loki anything, but he had something the god would want even more than merely his weight pinning him down.

 

"Up," he ground out between clenched teeth.

 

Loki turned a garnet eye back over his shoulder, but the way Clint looked back at him left no room for argument.  With a growl rumbling in the back of his throat, Loki lifted up onto his knees, keeping his chest pressed to the sheets.

 

"Like so?" he asked, with a hint of taunting in the growling tones of his voice.

 

Clint merely sent a sharp grin down at him before taking firm hold of his hips and slamming forward.  Those challenging red eyes fell closed and the teasing lilt of his voice was obliterated by the lustful bellow the motion forced from his throat.

 

"Perfect," Clint returned as he set a brutal pace.

 

One hand slid from Loki’s hip, forward and down, over the tightening muscles of his lower belly to grip the rigid flesh of his cock.  Loki howled and bucked forward into his fist, and Clint could feel him on the verge, his body was tight with his impending release.

 

Which wasn’t at all what Clint had planned for him.

 

His hand clamped down tight around Loki’s cock, nearly to the point of pain, and once again, Loki thrashed and cried out his denial.

 

" _Not_ until I say," Clint admonished, never once breaking his rhythm or lessening his grip.

 

A snarl ripped from Loki’s throat, his body heaving as he all but tore the bed to shreds beneath him.

“Please!" he growled, so low and primal Clint could barely understand him.  "Clint, _please…_ ”

 

Just the sound of his name in that voice was nearly enough to end him right there, Clint could feel the tension in his belly about to snap.  He held back by a monumental act of willpower, and only the anticipation of how hard he was going to make Loki come kept him from spilling.

 

His hand shot up to tangle in the black fall of Loki’s hair, and used the leverage of his next thrust to yank him clear of the bed until his back was arched, face turned to the ceiling with unseeing eyes.  His breath grew strangled, and though it was impossible, he seemed to grow even harder in Clint’s fist.  He felt the arousal pulsing through the steel-hard flesh; any longer and it wouldn’t matter how hard Clint held him.  Clint couldn’t draw this out any more, he was too close himself.  As much as he would love to prolong Loki’s blissful torture, drink in the sounds he made and watch the way he moved, he knew it was at an end.

 

With his hold in Loki’s hair, Clint pulled until he could pant a hot breath against his ear.

 

" _Come for me,_ " he growled, and gave Loki’s cock one long stroke.

 

That panting, growling voice at his ear sounded the command Loki had been aching for, and the god broke apart with a feral cry.

 

His body clenched in the throes of pleasure so overpowering that it was nearly painful in its’ intensity, and his hands came up to encircle Clint’s wrists, holding tight as the tension in his belly snapped.  That wavering cry cycled, a keening snarl that Clint could feel vibrating through his chest even as the wet heat of Loki’s release spilled out and over his hand.

 

Clint gritted his teeth at the sudden, punishing tightness of Loki’s body around his cock, holding his pace hard and steady as he fucked the god through his orgasm.  He fought to keep his hold on Loki as he bucked and sobbed, twisting and straining against the hold in his hair.

 

" _Please_ ," Loki howled in that guttural, rasping voice.  "Please, my Hawk.   _Finish me._  Come for me.  Fill me to overflowing."

 

"Thought you’d never ask," Clint breathed before sinking his teeth into the god’s shoulder and snapping his hips forward.

 

In that moment, Clint was focused on Loki as he never had been before.  Everything was Loki; the scent of him, the taste of him, the heat of him surrounding his cock.  No longer could Clint even feel the bed beneath them.  There was nothing but Loki.

 

Then his release crashed over, around, through him, and even that much was lost on him.  For the first time since he could remember, Clint allowed himself to lose his focus; to do nothing but feel.  Always, he’d kept a bit of himself back, just the smallest bit.  It was a mark of trust he’d never bestowed on anyone.  Not even Loki.  Not until now.

 

And Loki would never know.  Clint would never be able to tell him this; there were no words he could string together that would make his god see how very much he’d given himself over to him in that moment.

 

Even after the tremors bled away, when the edge of release had long passed, Clint kept his hold on Loki, his teeth firmly embedded in the flesh of his shoulder.  The ragged panting of his god’s frantic breath calmed until he was once again rumbling contentedly in the back of his throat.  His Hawk had claimed him, inside and out, and there was nothing amiss in Loki’s world.

 

Inside, however, Clint was coming to realize exactly how doomed he really was.

 

No longer could he pretend that someday, something might happen to drive his god from his side.  No longer could he let Loki go on thinking that Clint would ever not want him.  There was no room for such trivial worries.  What they shared was much bigger than just the two of them.

 

It was the single most terrifying moment of Clint’s life.

 

When he finally pulled his teeth from Loki’s flesh, before he could think to stop himself, he murmured, “You have _no_ idea how much I love you.”

 

And the moment passed.

 

The heavy beat of Loki’s pulse thrumming through his eardrums nearly drowned out the quiet whisper of Clint’s admission.  A moment later, and the words broke through the haze of bliss cluttering the god’s thoughts, allowing him to comprehend exactly what the archer had just said.

 

Loki stilled; pinned beneath his Hawk, and the sting of the bite in his shoulder faded away to nothing.

Everything faded away until the only thing remaining in his head were the _words_ and the _need_ and the _emotion_ that gilded them.

 

An ache rose in Loki’s throat; sharp and unexpected, and then settled in his chest to coil around his heart.  He swallowed harshly and captured Clint’s hand, drawing it against his breast to cover the racing pulse just beneath the skin.

 

"I may not know the full _depth_ of your love," Loki breathed.  "But I will happily take all you are willing to give me."

 

He paused for a long moment, his hand covering Clint’s before he continued.  “Love is slippery; hard to interpret…and yet, I have never doubted that you do love me.  And that is what matters most.  Not the volume, nor content.  Simply that it _exists_.”

 

Clint nodded and pressed a kiss to Loki’s nape, scratching his nails lightly over the heart thumping out a steady rhythm beneath his touch.

 

Now that the frenzy of their coupling had passed, Clint was beginning to realize the truth of his own words.  It ran far deeper than even he himself had thought; it merely took him saying it out loud for him to be able to admit it, both to Loki and himself.

 

He was also beginning to realize what a mess they’d made of the bed.  With his head cleared, he could take in the tousled sheets, the blankets tossed completely off the bed, and the mattress was now crooked on the frame.  He chuckled to himself and let his forehead rest between Loki’s shoulders, the skin still blue and radiating its’ furnace-like heat.

 

"I’m not always good with words," he muttered.  "In fact I’m pretty terrible at them.  Never seem to get them right, not the way I mean them."

 

Loki rumbled in his chest, a soothing purr that Clint could feel through his entire body.  “The words are not important, my Hawk,” he said in that voice that sent shivers up Clint’s spine even now.  “Only that you mean them when you do gift me with them.”

 

"Wouldn’t say it if I _didn’t_ ," Clint returned.

 

Loki moved then, twisting his hips until Clint slid free of his heat.  The strangled groan Clint loosed brought an amused chuckle from Loki’s throat, and Clint glared at him as he turned onto his back beneath him.  Loki gazed up at him, a mischievous glint in his red eyes as they slowly faded back to green, and the blue leached from his skin until he was once more pale and smooth.  Clint wasn’t sure if he was disappointed or not.

 

"I know you _always_ mean what you say," Loki said as his hand slid through the sweat damp hair at the nape of Clint’s neck.  "You are possibly the most honest person I’ve ever known, beside my brother, of course.  You are both _horrible_ liars.”

 

Clint settled once more on top of Loki, his chin resting on the god’s sternum as his eyes closed against the feeling of fingers running along his scalp.

 

"Don’t see the point in lying with it’s more fun to tell the truth," he said.

 

"Indeed," Loki mused.  "For far too long, I was a thing made of lies.  When I vowed to change that behavior, it was…surprisingly freeing."

 

"Well yeah," Clint murmured.  "With the truth, there’s nothing that has to be remembered.  No accidental slip ups.  It’s just simpler all around."

 

"Precisely," the god breathed, watching the way Clint’s face softened as Loki carded through the archer’s hair.

 

Clint was always at his most unguarded in moments like these; his appetite sated and eyes closed.  With the outside world shut to his gaze, he could focus fully on his god; the scent and feel of him a balm to all his ills.

 

"I would say that you haven’t the slightest idea how deep my love for you goes, either," Loki said quietly.  "But I have never been shy in professing such.  The fact that I wish you to be at my side for all of eternity simply validates my claims, I think."

 

"It does," Clint slurred, fast approaching the edge of sleep.  He wriggled slightly, seeking the most comfortable position atop the god before finishing.  "An’ I want that too."

 

"I know, my love," Loki replied, stroking long fingers through short, sandy hair.  "I know.  Now rest.  We have all the time in the world to trade admissions of love."

 

Clint gave a pleased hum, and his breathing deepened slowly into a steady rhythm as he gave in to the embrace of slumber.

 

Loki remained awake for some time, softly running his hands over the sleeping archer, thrilling to the fact that this was _real_ , and _good_ , and now, finally, _forever_.

 


End file.
